


Snapshots

by Cat_stickers



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Instagram, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12062544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_stickers/pseuds/Cat_stickers
Summary: He swings an arm around Iwa-chan’s waist, dragging him into the shot, and smiles sunnily at the camera.He lays in bed later that evening gazing at the Iwa-chan in the picture. His friend isn’t looking at the camera, but right at a spot low on his cheek, a small smile curving his lips. The image is so agonisingly intimate that it has Tooru closing his eyes, pressing the phone to his chest and breathing out heavily.----Oikawa and Iwaizumi's final year of high school in a series of snapshots.





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> So originally this was going to be a 2000 word one-shot centred around Instagram pictures, but here I am, 17,000 words and still going. I have written about 75% of this already, so it will be completed!
> 
> This is easily the longest piece I've ever written, so I'm not sure how good it is - I'll probably come back to edit it at some point when it's complete. Also, I'm not sure if this fits perfectly with the canon, so maybe suspend your disbelief a little bit! 
> 
> (I'm gonna tag this as underaged cos the characters are still at high school in this fic.)

* * *

“Iwa-chan, come and take a picture with me!”

“Can it be of me punching you in the face?”

“Iwa-chan, that wouldn’t make a good photo.” Oikawa whines and tilts his head, a heavy pout settling onto his mouth as Iwaizumi snaps a quick image of the cherry blossoms in the park, “You’ll take your own picture but you won’t take one with me?! So mean, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi posts the image without adding a caption or hashtag, then looks up to look at his friend. The late morning light is catching in Oikawa’s hair and highlighting the light sheen of sweat on his collar bones. If Iwaizumi allowed himself to pay attention to things like that he’d be caught for a moment in wonder at how beautiful his friend looked in the moment. But he doesn’t and he isn’t, so instead he fixes his face into a frown and tells him to _hurry up Shittykawa, I want to get home before I’m eighty._ Then he jogs away to complete his lap of the park.

Predictably Oikawa does not follow him and spends fifteen minutes capturing the perfect selfie, then writing the perfect caption and hashtags. He brandishes his phone triumphantly at Iwaizumi when he jogs back towards the tree. He looks stupidly pleased with himself and is bragging about a number of likes he’s got on the image already, which normally would have Iwaizumi slapping him on the back of the head. But the light is still catching in his hair, cotton work-out vest clinging damply to his chest, so Iwaizumi lets it slide and instead races him all the way home.

Later in the afternoon (after they’ve showered, stuffed themselves with Oikawa’s mother’s cooking, and played a few rounds of some old video games), Iwaizumi sees the picture as he lazily browses his phone.

The image perfectly captures the beauty of the cherry blossom tree, blossoms bursting with colour and life. But really the focus of the shot is Tooru. Face lit up in a bright smile, winking at the camera and throwing up a peace sign.

The sunlight illuminates his features like a classical painting, highlighting the sweat on his brow and emphasising the redness on his cheeks. And Iwaizumi _definitely_ does not allow himself to think about how Tooru outshines the beauty of the cherry blossom as he hits _like_ on the picture.

* * *

Iwaizumi Hajime does not give a damn about his Instagram account. He’s only got the damn thing in the first place because Oikawa had harassed him about it non-stop for a solid fortnight. It ended with Hajime grabbing his friend by the collar and growling in his face that he’d _get a stupid account if you shut the fuck up about it already_. Of course, Oikawa, not intimidated at all, had just grinned sunnily at him and cooed his name, as if he’d been innocent the whole time. What a dick.

So now Hajime has this dumb Instagram account. He doesn’t really see the point of sharing dozens of pretentiously crafted images with the internet, but here he is, having grudgingly sworn that he’ll _actually upload pictures Iwa-chaaaaan, it’s no fun if you don’t use it_.

Every couple of weeks, he snaps a quick picture of something that catches his eye. His feed (which still only had about fifty images compared to Assikawa’s six hundred) is filled mainly with random shots of things which he thinks look nice.

Landscape shots of the countryside from his weekend runs the sun rising over the tops of trees, making everything appear as though it had been dipped in gold.

Quick snaps of the particularly spectacular food that his mother prepared when she was feeling relaxed and in a good mood, allowing him to hover around her in the kitchen to nibble samples of the meal before it was fully presented.

Candids of her in an apron, sauce smeared on her cheekbone and a smile playing on her mouth. Those ones he always showed her before posting, assuring her that she didn’t look a day over twenty-five in the early evening sunlight.

Pictures of the volleyball court early in the morning, light streaming in through the high-set windows.

His sister in a yukata, posing ridiculously for the camera.

Shots of his team celebrating matches. As well as a few choice images of them making fun of Oikawa for whatever reason, the pout on his face both adorable and hilarious.

Exactly three photographs of his own face – two of them taken by his mother after winning matches, with his face red and an arm slung around Oikawa’s shoulder, grinning at the camera in victory.

And the other is the only selfie Hajime’s ever taken: a picture of the outfit he’d worn to some family event. He’d taken it in the floor length mirror in his mother’s bedroom to capture his whole outfit; a simple black suit, flashes of white shirt peeking out from beneath the matching waistcoat, framed with a black tie.

He taken a few shots, trying to get his face to look right, and ended up posting one where he’s biting his lip slightly, one hand reaching up to the back of his head in an awkward pose.

He’d never gotten so many likes a picture before or since.

Oikawa had commented with a string of heart emojis and exclamation marks, which he didn’t like to think about too much.

He doesn’t know that Oikawa had also saved the image and had it as his phone background for several weeks before almost getting caught staring at it, and had to change it to something more innocent.

* * *

Oikawa Tooru prides himself on having an Instagram account which is _on point_.

Given his veritable _hoard_ of followers he takes extreme care and a large amount of time each day in snapping the perfect pics to keep his fangirls (and boys) happy and adoring. Of course, he also puts in a lot of effort to make sure that his uploads don’t _look_ like they’ve been planned to the _n_ th degree. From his aesthetic skyline shots to his painstakingly arranged selfies everything is perfectly candid-looking.

It’s this time-consuming process of appearing to put no time in that finds him balancing precariously on a bench in the club room on the first day back after break before afternoon practice. Tooru has spent the past ten minutes arranging his shoes, jersey, water bottle, and kneepads in the perfect shot. And it does look very aesthetically pleasing; the light streaming through the window in front of him is setting the whole ensemble off _very nicely_.

He’s particularly proud of this one.

He’s just leaning over a _little bit further_ on the bench, standing on tip toe in his socks to achieve the optimal angle when the clubroom door slams open behind him. With an undignified yelp of surprise Tooru feels his leg muscles seize for a second, enough to overbalance him and send him crashing down to the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi’s voice comes, sharp but unsuprised from the doorway. Tooru groans in response, glaring up at him from the floor. His picture-perfect arrangement of practice gear now strewn around him, one shoe digging uncomfortably into his left kidney.

“Iwa-chaaaaaan” he whines, “you ruined my picture.”

Iwa-chan gives him an unamused look and starts towards his locker, dropping a not so gentle kick to his thigh as he steps over his fallen teammate. “Just hurry up idiot, you can’t be late for the first practice. You _are_ the captain you know.”

“Iwa-chan, so mean.” Tooru picks himself up of the floor in a huff. He briefly considers resetting the shot and trying for a quick snap before changing, but one glance at Iwaizumi makes him think better of it. Maybe he can get one of the first years to take a good shot of him during practice.

* * *

**To: Iwa-chan <3 **

**Sent: 15:13**

**_Do you know where you’re gonna apply yet?_ **

****

From: Iwa-chan <3

Received: 15:15

_no_

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 15:15**

**_Iwa-chaaaaaaaaaaaaan, we’ve been telling you for months that you need to decide! I don’t wanna hear you whining about it in January when you haven’t even Googled one damn university!_ **

From: Iwa-chan <3

Received: 15:23

_I don’t ‘whine’ about anything – you must be thinking about urself_

****

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 15:31**

**_(5 attachments)_ **

**_Here, I’ve sent you some links for some places I’ve been looking at! Although maybe you won’t pass the entrance exams for these hahahaha. Maybe you should set your sights a little lower Iwa-chan_ ** **_(^_ ** **_ー_ ** **_^)_ ** **_v_ **

****

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 15:52**

**_Are you ignoring me now??????_ **

****

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 15:56**

**_Don’t be mad at meeeeeee it’s just a joke Iwa-chaaaaan_ **

****

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 16:03**

**_IWA-CHAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ **

****

From: Iwa-chan <3

Received: 16:04

_omg stop spamming me shittykawa_

****

From: Iwa-chan <3

Received: 16:06

_which one are you looking at most_

****

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 16:07**

**_Oh thank goodness, I was worried that you might be dead. I like the first one the best – their v-ball team is AWESOME_ ** **_✿♥‿♥✿_ **

****

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 16:10**

**_You need to pick on with a good team so we can play together right????? Or at least against each other!_ **

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 16:16**

**_Iwa-chan??_ **

****

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 16:23**

**_Don’t ignore me again!_ **

****

**To: Iwa-chan <3**

**Sent: 16:57**

**_I don’t know what I said but don’t be mad at me plz! <3 _ **

* * *

He can’t avoid it forever: he _knows_ that, but he had been hoping to get to at least September before he’d been dragged into the career councillor’s office to ‘ _discuss his future plans’_.

“Iwaizumi-kun?”

Iwaizumi blinks. He breaks his staring contest with the lucky cat sitting on the councillor’s desk, and looks up at her face instead. She’s raising her eyebrows in expectation of an answer to whatever question he’s just ignored.

“Sorry,” he says hastily, picking at a loose thread on his school trousers, “can you repeat the question?”

The councillor smiles patiently at him and leans back in her chair. “I said, have you made plans for what you’ll do once the school year is complete?”

Iwaizumi shifts in his chair. “I haven’t really given it a lot of thought, Sensei” he admits, avoiding her eyes.

“Well there’s still plenty of time, Iwaizumi-kun. I know that you’re on the school volleyball team, and you’re a very skilled player. Have you thought about something to do with sports science? Your grades in biology are very good.” She moves a few papers around on her desk. “Or perhaps you’ve thought about becoming a professional player? Your teammate Oikawa-kun has told me that’s his aim after high school. Have you looked into any sports scholarships?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t reply. Oikawa wanting to go pro is something that he’s always known – they’ve spent many a late night watching matches on TV and imagining how they’ll play one day. Together. For the national team. The captain and his ace.

“I don’t really know, Sensei,” he says, thoughts drifting now to Oikawa and where they both might be in a year’s time, “I haven’t thought too much about playing after high school.”

Except he _has_ , every time he and Oikawa play together, in practice or competitively. How they’ll go to the same university, get onto the team and develop their play to become unstoppable on the court. The Asian Games, The World Cup, The Olympics. Standing on a global stage _together_ , playing _together,_ being _together_.

But as the final year of high school looms over his head, it seems less realistic and more like a childish fantasy. Something that’s nice to dream about but won’t actually happen. He can only go so far, and he knows eventually Oikawa will find someone more skilled to play with. Because Oikawa _is_ destined for greatness. That’s something he’s always known.

He’s mind slips to the texts Oikawa had sent him at the weekend, the list of five schools at which he was thinking about applying. All of them had excellent volleyball teams where national team players had previously played, and difficult entrance exams. He isn’t on that level.

Maybe it’s time to let go of his dreams and face reality.

“Well take these and look over them,” the councillor is saying, pushing a bundle of pamphlets and booklets into his hands, “see what catches your eye and makes some applications. In order to keep your options open, you actually have to _have_ some options Iwaizumi-kun.”

“Okay, thank you” he replies, reluctantly shoving the whole lot in his backpack without looking at them, just as the bell rings for lunch.

“Iwaizumi-kun,” she calls as he pulls the door open and steps into the hallway, students surging past him like fish in a river, “my door is always open if you need advice.”

He bows slightly in acknowledgement and hurries down the corridor to the bathroom.

He splashes some cool water over his face, and shakes his head to try and settle his whirling thoughts. Unprepared to face Oikawa to eat lunch just yet, he leans against the sink and takes out his phone.

When he opens his Instagram app he’s met immediately with Oikawa’s latest post; it makes his heart sink in his chest. A nicely arranged shot of a sheaf of papers, accompanied by a volleyball and a Japanese national team keyring. The caption reads: _Ready to make dreams into reality #collegeapplications #provolleyball #hitituntilitbreaks_.

* * *

Tooru is only allowed to take pictures of Iwa-chan when Iwa-chan is in a good mood, or if he’s been annoying him about it all day. But generally, the latter make for angry pictures, and Tooru prefers Iwa-chan to look happy in his pics.

A couple of months into the school year, when the air is starting to hint at a blazingly hot summer, they deviate from their normal Sunday morning jogging route veer off to explore a trail down past the river that they haven’t been to since they were kids.

Iwa-chan is laughing behind him as his feet slip on the now unfamiliar terrain, but his hands always find Tooru’s arms to steady him. They slow to a walk as they move further upstream and into the more heavily wooded area. The mid-morning sun moves out from behind a cloud as they step into the clearing they used to come to as children, and Iwa-chan throws himself on the ground, stretching out his body like a cat in a patch of sunlight.

Tooru takes his running jacket off first, laying it neatly down on the grass and dirt next to Iwa-chan, before flopping down next to him. He lets his head rest on dip of Iwa-chan’s hipbone so they’re lying at a right-angle to each other.

“I’m not a pillow” Iwa-chan complains, but without heat, so Tooru knows that he doesn’t really mind.

“We used to lay like this when we were younger, you didn’t mind then.”

“Your head wasn’t as big then.”

“ _Hey.”_ Tooru turns his head, offended, “so mean, Iwa-chan.” Iwa-chan laughs and closes his eyes, one hand pillowing his head, the other coming to rest lightly across Tooru’s chest.

Tooru fishes his hand awkwardly into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone, snapping some shots of the leaves overhead and the clear sky in the background, before tucking it away again and letting his eyes fall closed.

They lay like that for a little while, listening to birds singing overhead, the soft sounds of the river several yards away. It’s peaceful, Tooru thinks; too far out of town to hear any traffic noise and just the calming sensation of Hajime breathing in and out, in and out against his head. They used to do this as children – come down to the river on the weekend or in summer break. Spend the whole day paddling in the cold river water, trying to catch the small fishes, sword fighting with twigs, stuffing themselves with the lunch and sweets Hajime’s mother used to make them.

He voices this out loud to Hajime who laughs and asks if he remembers the time he threw Tooru into the river after defeating him in an arm-wrestling contest.

“ _Iwa-chaaaaaaaan”_ Tooru whines, sitting up and looking down at his friend who’s grinning at him, “you cheated in that contest! A bug landed on me and you took advantage of it!”

“Whatever, Crappykawa, I still would’ve won even if you hadn’t screamed like a girl and flailed all over the place. Even when we were twelve years old I could beat your ass as easily as I could now.” Iwa-chan has a smug look on his face, as if he knows that it’s true without even needing to try.

Tooru does not back down from a challenge. “Are you sure those are muscles and not fat from your mother’s cooking? I haven’t seen you do any strength training recently Iwa-chan.”

Hajime’s eyes narrow, as Tooru knew they would, like he wanted. He feels an addictive heat curl in his stomach. He springs to his feet quickly and is already backing away as Hajime stands to advance on him.

“Don’t bring my mother into this Shittykawa, I’ll bet she could beat your ass too.” He strips off his jacket, revealing his strong, muscular arms. They could _definitely_ have Tooru whimpering before he even knew what was happening, he thinks hotly.

“Oh, and I’d let her, she’s a very attractive lady,” he winks at Iwa-chan and sticks his tongue out. Iwa-chan gives him a murderous look and springs towards him.

They chase after each other for a few moments, weaving in and out of the trees, Tooru laughing freely and brightly, arching his back and twisting to avoid Hajime’s hands. By the time Tooru lets himself get caught, Hajime is laughing along with him.

They go down in a tangle of limbs, and westle for a few minutes before Hajime ends up pining Tooru’s arms above his head with one hand, the other snaking down to tickle his exposed tummy.

“Say you’re sorry, Shiitykawa” Hajime laughs breathlessly, staring down at Tooru’s scrunched up face.

“No, please, _please_ , Iwa-chaaan”, he gasps, squirming and writhing underneath the other boy’s body, arms flexing uselessly again the strong grip of Hajime’s hands, “please don’t, I can’t – _ah!_ ”

He breaks off into a shriek as Hajime tickles him mercilessly, releasing the grip on his arms to assault his exposed skin with both hands. He pushes Tooru’s t-shirt further up his chest to reveal his vulnerable sides, moving his hands around to tickle there as well.

“ _Ah! Ahhhh!_ Please please, _Iwa-chan!_ Stop it! Come on, Iwa-chaaaaaaaan please, ah!” Tooru can hardly breath he’s laughing so hard. Eyes tearing up as he gazes up at Hajime’s face. Hajime’s grinning wildly at him, laughing and taunting him from above, pressing down with his fingers and holding him firmly in place with his hips when Tooru tries to buck up to throw him off.

And that’s the exact moment that Tooru realises how intimately close they are. And how embarrassingly close he is to getting hard. He stops laughing instantly, eyes widening and lips pressing together tightly.

_Too close, too close, too much, too soon._

Hajime’s fingers halt their attack on his stomach, and come to rest against his soft skin. His friend is staring down at him, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, breath coming fast from excursion. The smile from before lingers but he isn’t laughing anymore either, and Tooru can feel his cheeks burning red.

He breaks eye contact abruptly, unable to look his friend in the eye any longer, desperate to get out of this position.

“You win” he gasps out, pushing against Iwa-chan’s chest to get him off. But Iwa-chan doesn’t move, just stays there staring at him.

“Tooru…” he starts, but Tooru beats him to it.

“Hajime,” he says, pushing him again, voice coming out stronger this time, “come on, let me up.”

“Right.”

Hajime scrambles to get off him, moving several feet away, back turned, looking like he’s trying to catch his breath. Tooru lays on the floor for a few seconds, pushing his palms against his eyes and willing himself to not die of embarrassment right then and there.

Tooru groans and pushes himself off the ground. At least the embarrassment of the situation means he’s not getting hard anymore, so he feels _slightly_ less mortified when Hajime turns to look at him.

“Hey, where’s your phone?”

“Umm, it’s over with my jacket” Tooru gestures to his jacket and phone several feet away, wondering why Hajime wants to know _that_ right now, “why?”

“No reason,” Hajime says casually, before coming towards him with intent. For a split second Tooru’s heart leaps into his mouth, as he swears Hajime is about to kiss him. He’s got this intense look on his face, eyes focused and mouth set determinedly.

As he reaches Tooru he sweeps him up off his feet to pick him up like a bride and Tooru practically has a heart attack right there.

“Hajime,” he gasps out, “what…”

And then he’s being spun around, walked forward several steps, and is thrown unceremoniously and fully clothed, into the river. 

“ _IWA-CHAAAAAAAAAAN!”_

Half an hour later the awkwardness from before has dissolved thanks to the epic splash war Tooru had engaged Iwa-chan in, and they both haul themselves back to the clearing they started in. Tooru dries his face and hands with the jacket he left lying in the grass, and snatches up his phone.

He swings an arm around Iwa-chan’s waist, dragging him into the shot, and smiles sunnily at the camera.

He lays in bed later that evening gazing at the Iwa-chan in the picture. His friend isn’t looking at the camera, but right at a spot low on his cheek, a small smile curving his lips. The image is so agonisingly intimate that it has Tooru closing his eyes, pressing the phone to his chest and breathing out heavily.

Behind his eyes the events of the morning replay as clearly as if he were still experiencing them again.

The way the light had filtered down between the leaves, the feel of Iwa-chan’s breath on his cheek, the press of his hands and body when he’d pinned him to the floor. Oikawa whines low in his throat, feeling himself getting hard just at the memory of it, of Hajime’s rough hands on the soft skin of his stomach.

He presses one of his own hands there now, shoving his shirt up out of the way, feeling the heat of his own skin. It’s a poor substitute, but behind in his eyes it’s Hajime’s hand warm against him. Tooru lets his phone fall onto the mattress and brings his other hand to press against his left thigh, imagining it as Hajime’s, pressing firmly against him.

In his imagination, he doesn’t ask the other boy to get off him, and Hajime face softens into a smile as he leans down to kiss him, to mouth at first gently and then more insistently at his throat. Tooru breathes out a sigh. He lets his hands trail across his hips, pushing the soft fabric of his shorts and underwear down, exposing his aching cock to the air.

The Hajime in his mind kisses down his chest, hands skimming his hips and thighs before coming up to grasp Tooru’s cock confidently and purposefully. Tooru gasps and then moans at the feel of his own hand on his hot, hard flesh. If it were Hajime he’d smirk and suck a biting kiss onto Tooru’s hipbone, teasing him with his mouth and pumping him hard with his hand.

Tooru strokes purposefully, playing out the fantasy in his mind, whimpering Hajime’s name as he comes over his own fist. He lays there for a moment, the uncomfortable feeling of his release cooling on his skin.

_Shit._

* * *

Oikawa is ignoring him.

It’s been a week and spring is starting to trail into summer with uncomfortable heat.

They haven’t spoken about what happened down by the river, and Oikawa has thrown himself into training harder than ever, much to Iwaizumi’s disapproval.

The morning after it had happened Oikawa had hardly spoken to him, blushing when he’d step out of his front door to join Iwaizumi on the walk to school. They hadn’t made eye contact and as soon as they arrived in the club room Oikawa had jumped over to Makki to start a lively conversation, leaving Iwaizumi to change and head to the gym alone.

Oikawa continues this trend, speaking to him less and less as the week goes on, and training harder than he’s ever done before. Already running laps in the gym when Iwaizumi arrives, practising his serve long after everyone else has called it a day. Every time he tosses he demands detailed and precise feedback from each player, freaking out half the first years and aggravating the rest of the team to no end.

_(“Hey, Shittykawa! Wrap it up, you’ve done enough!”_

_“You can go, I’ll lock up.”_

_“It’s not an option, jackass.”_

_“And that wasn’t an offer. Go home Iwaizumi.” His serve slams hard into the back wall._

_He never calls Iwaizumi by his full name. He’s so shocked that he leaves in a fit of anger. If Oikawa wants to work himself into the ground, let him.)_

Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa is doing it to distract himself, because that’s what he always does when there’s something on his mind that he doesn’t want to linger over. But it also feels like he’s doing it to avoid Iwaizumi. Brushing him off at lunch, and texting not to bother picking him up before school.

Iwaizumi has started to get more information about what his friend is doing via his Instagram feed than from spending time with him. Every other is a selfie in his practice gear, or the road by his house in the pre-dawn darkness.

As much as he tries Oikawa won’t talk to him, and honestly, he hasn’t been this lonely since they fell out when Oikawa got his first girlfriend in middle school.

It’s early on Sunday morning and he jogs the two streets over to Oikawa’s house to pick him up for their usual run. Even when they’re pissed off with each other, they always go for this run. Iwaizumi is hoping that they can talk things over while they run, that the movement and open space will help them both get over this _whatever-it-is_ that’s pulling them apart.

He knocks a few times before finally Oikawa’s father answers the door, looking surprised to see him.

“Tooru-kun left half an hour ago” Oikawa’s father explains, giving Iwaizumi a look of confusion.

Iwaizumi is too flustered to say anything, and quickly apologises for the disturbance, making his way back onto the street and towards his own house.

It shouldn’t be such a big deal really. Oikawa’s been missing parts of their routine all week in favour of doing things alone. It’s not like they’ve made a formal agreement to go for this weekly run, but, out of everything, this somehow seemed sacred. It’s just…what they _do._ They always go together.

_That’s what they do._

Back at home he stares at the half-completed application forms on his desk. The name of the school Oikawa had told him he wanted most to get accepted at stares back at him.

In a moment of anger and frustration he snatches the papers up and rips them into pieces, throwing the shreds into his wastepaper basket.


	2. Summer

* * *

 

 

They don’t speak for a month.

There’s no one pounding on his bedroom door to yank him out of bed and into practice, no 1am texts telling him to _go the fuck to sleep Assikawa_ , no quiet laughter in his ear when he eats lunch.

They’ve hardly said two words to each other since that day in the gym when Tooru had used Iwaizumi’s full name for the first time in about twelve years.

As soon as the door had slammed shut behind Iwa-chan’s fuming figure, he had slammed ball after ball into the back wall of the gym, rattling the high windows so hard they seem ready to crack and shatter all around him.

When he ran out of balls he had slumped forwards, gasping for breath, knee protesting with the effort of too many jumps. In his mind, he’d heard Iwa-chan scolding him for working too hard – _Don’t be an idiot Shittykawa, don’t work yourself to death you fucking moron._

Silence echoed in his ears and he had desperately wished he could take back everything he’s done in the last few days. Frustrated tears dripped hot over his cheeks as he stretched his knee out painfully, and when he had limped slightly on the way home, there was no one there to loop an arm around his waist and support him.

 

* * *

 

The Interhigh Prelims rush up to slap them in the face, without a care for how Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s partnership is crumbling around them.

The bus ride to the gym the morning of the first match is tense and awkward. The whole team can tell that there’s something not right between the captain and his vice.

Iwaizumi throws himself into a seat at the front of the bus, pointedly shoving his kit bag into the one next to it, avoiding Oikawa’s eye when he pauses slightly before dropping into the seat behind him.

To his left, Hanamaki and Matsuwaka are huddled together, speaking in low voices that they think he can’t hear, and sending worried glances between him and Oikawa. He catches words like _‘messed up’,_ and, _‘lover’s tiff’_ , and _‘childish’._

If this were a normal day he would lean over a yell at them. Oikawa would laugh next to him and rest a hand on his arm to calm him down, smirking that it’s just a joke. Iwaizumi would hit him then instead.

But it’s not, and he doesn’t. The view from the window bleeds green into grey as they come into the main city, and he thinks about what chance they have of making Nationals in the state they’re in.

Maybe this will be the last time he and Oikawa play together.

He bites his tongue when his vision goes blurry. Behind him, he hears Oikawa sniff, and wonders if he’s thinking about the same thing.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _This is bullshit_.

Tooru moves his way deftly through the crowded foyer of the gymnasium, ducking insistent fangirls and rival teams with practiced ease. This could be the last time that he and Iwa-chan play together, and he’s damn well not going to let something as stupid as his crush get in the way of playing with everything they have.

They’ve been playing _fine_ in training, but that’s just it.

 _Fine_.

Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime do not play _fine._ They play _spectacularly._ They’re a sight to behold.

Oikawa will be damned if he’s going to let years of hard work slip through their fingers because he can’t swallow his pride.

He rounds a corner and pushes into the bathroom. Down the hall, he spies a shock of red hair going the opposite direction. _Good._ He’s in no mood to get into it with Karasuno’s fiery number ten right now.

The cold water he splashes on his face grounds him a little as he tries to plan what he wants to say to Iwa-chan before they have to go out onto the court.

 S _orry I was a massive dick, but I have a crush on you and have since we were thirteen. I got painfully turned on and jerked off to the thought of your hands on me, so I stopped talking to you, and I over worked myself like you always tell me not to. I stopped having lunch with you and stopped talking to you and I went for our run without you because I’m desperately ashamed of myself and I want you so badly but I don’t want to fuck up our friendship._

How can he possibly even begin to put all that shit into a coherent apology?

_Fuck._

Maybe he can start with something simple like, “I’m sorry.” That’s what people normally say, right?

Tooru turns off the water and wipes a hand over his face. Water drips onto his shirt, turning the fabric slightly translucent. Behind him the bathroom door swings open, the noise of the corridor beyond rushing in and swirling around him.

In the mirror, he sees Iwa-chan stood frozen in the doorway.

“Iwa-chan, wait I wanted to…”

“Sorry, I’ll just come back…”

They both stop and stare at each other. Tooru turns to face him, resting one shaking hand on the cold porcelain of the sink.

“You wanted to what?” He steps into the bathroom, letting the door swing closed behind him, muffling the noise of the outside world. Tooru takes it as a good sign that he hasn’t turned and left, or punched him in the face. Yet.

“I just wanted to say that…” he looks away, worrying the fabric of his jacket, fisting the smooth material in his hand, “I’ve been a complete jackass.”

Iwa-chan exhales like the air is being punched from his lungs. “No shit.”

Tooru bites his lip to stop the smile that wants to quirk on his mouth. Somehow, he doesn’t think it’ll do him any favours if he laughs just in this moment.

“I just wanted to say that, I’ve been a complete jackass,” he repeats, eyes coming up to look at a spot on Iwa-chan’s cheekbone, “and that I know I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean for us to get like this, and I really miss being friends with you, and I want for us to go back to the way we were before all this happened.”

Iwa-chan’s cheeks are burning red, eyes slightly wide. His hands are shoved tightly into his jacket pockets, “I want that as well.” His voice is low and thick like honey, and Tooru lets it rush over him like running water.

“Iwa-chan,” he starts, “Hajime,” he corrects himself, “I’m really sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Hajime regards him for a long moment, jaw clenched and shoulders set. He hopes that his tone can convey the sincerity of his words, and how much more there is that he can’t even being to think of the phrases for.

“Shittykawa, you could’ve just said all that a month ago and avoided all this bullshit.”

Tears spill over onto Tooru’s face and his voice cracks when he exclaims, “Iwa-chan!”

“If you start crying I’ll break your serving arm, now can I take a piss or what, we need to go warm up.” His tone is brusque but his eyes are a little red as well, and Tooru feels like he can breathe again.

 

* * *

 

 

Losing to Shiratorizawa had stung like a shot in the chest. But it had been a good way for Iwaizumi and Oikawa to knit their relationship back together. The familiar feeling of his captain’s hand on his shoulder as they walked from the gym in defeat had been like a healing balm over the wound.

_“We’ll get them next time.”_

_“You’re very confident.”_

_“You’re my ace Iwa-chan, I don’t need confidence.”_

With all the excitement of the Prelims, their falling out, and various adults pressuring him to decide _what he wants to do with his life_ , Iwaizumi had practically forgotten that his birthday was just around the corner.

He sits on his bed the day before, staring at his running gear.

It’s 10am on Sunday, and he doesn’t know if Oikawa is expecting him or not.

He could text him, he guesses, just to see what’s up and casually slip in a question about whether they’re going for their run or not. Or, he could just go over there and knock on the door. But then if Oikawa doesn’t answer or isn’t there he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

He remembers the way Oikawa had called him “my ace” after the match. It burns in his chest and makes him blush whenever he thinks about it.

 _God_ , is this what girls deal with all the time? Crushing on someone and second guessing yourself at every turn. It’s giving him a headache.

The _buzzzzzz_ of his phone on his desk startles him out of his thoughts.

 

**From: Shittykawa**

**Received: 10:03**

**_Iwa-chaaaaan! Hurry up and get your hand out of your pants and get your running shoes on! It’ll be lunch time before we even set off if you don’t get over here!_ **

 

The crude joke makes him flush hot, and he chuckles as he types a reply unthinkingly, stumbling over to yank on his gear.

 

**To: Shittykawa**

**Sent: 10:04**

**_spend a lot of time thinking about me with my hands down my pants do u_ **

 

**From: Shittykawa**

**Received: 10:07**

**_Not as much time as I’m sure you spending thinking about my hands down there (_ ** **_・_ ** **_ω_ ** **_ｰ)_ ** **_～_ ** **_☆_ **

 

The message makes him flush hotly, and he trips over his front step in shock.

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

“I’m just saying, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa is leaning against a street lamp, catching his breath and gulping from a water bottle that they’re sharing, “what are you doing for it?”

Iwaizumi takes the bottle, and as he takes a drink he tries not to think about the fact that their mouths are touching the same place. They haven’t strayed from their usual route today, but the bridge that leads down to the river is just visible over Oikawa’s shoulder.

“Well, the same shit I do every year, dumbass.” He lifts his shirt to wipe sweat from his eyes and doesn’t miss the way Oikawa tracks the movement.

‘The same shit he does every year’ is spend the day/evening with Oikawa, watching films (that he gets to pick because it’s his birthday, the only day of the year Oikawa lets him do so), eating junk food, and playing video games until they fall asleep on top of one another. It’s been their tradition since they were ten years old.

“Oh, cool” Oikawa smiles and flushes a little, “I just didn’t know cos…you know.”

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t know if you’d wanna do that this time because, like, we weren’t talking for a while so…” he trails off, and looks away. The midmorning sun highlights the sweat on his brow and upper lip. Iwaizumi swallows.

“I’m not about to break a near decade of tradition cos of some stupid shit like that, Shittykawa.” He brings his leg up to kick Oikawa lightly on the calf.

Oikawa looks so overwhelmingly happy and perfect in the sunlight that Iwaizumi has to turn and jog away before he does something stupid. Like kiss him.

“Does that mean we’re upholding the joint party tradition?!” Oikawa calls after him, racing to catch up.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi! Iwaizumi! Get over here and show Kindaichi that scar on your ass!”

Laughter erupts behind him. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and sticks his middle finger up over his shoulder.

The girl in front of him giggles and sways close to him to whisper something that he can’t hear over the music. Her drink spills over the rim of her glass and onto his shirt. She doesn’t notice and presses closer to him.

He isn’t drunk enough to be chatted up by girls.

“Iwa-chan! That’s not very vice-captainly of you!” Oikawa’s voice floats over to him, he’s shouting to make himself heard over the music, or maybe Iwaizumi just had his ear tuned to it by now.

He growls and excuses himself from….Hanako? Hanan? Haruka? H-A-something at least. She scowls at him and returns to her giggling group of friends, complaining loudly about his lack of interest. _As if_ , he thinks, somewhat unkindly.

He turns to face his friends, weaving in and out of the bodies that are packed tightly into Oikawa’s living room. He’ll never know why his friend’s parents trust him with a free house for the whole weekend every year.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki are clinging to each other, laughing and making lewd gestures with their beer bottles. Kindaichi is suffering Oikawa hanging around his neck, looking like he’s very out of his depth.

“Awh, you didn’t have to come all the way over here just to slap Oikawa in the face. I’m sure he’d have waited until you to get it on with Hayami first.” Makki makes kissy faces at him, chuckling as he easily avoids Iwaizumi’s sloppy jab.

“Iwa-chaaaaan!” Oikawa shoves himself off Kindaichi (who looks grateful to be released), and throws his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, “where’s your drink?!”

“Jesus, Shittykawa, how many have you had?”

“It’s my _birthday_ , Iwa-chan. And _your_ birthday too, so where’s your _driiiink_?! Wait, where’s _my_ drink?” He looks around himself as his friends splutter with laughter.

“I think you’ve had enough, Oikawa.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan. Lucky you’re cute.” Iwaizumi feels his face heat up.

Mattsun slaps Oikawa on the arm, “Hey, captain, didn’t you say you wanted to _give_ Iwa-chan something?”

Kindaichi chokes on a mouthful of beer. Oikawa either misses the innuendo or doesn’t care, as he immediately straightens and starts pulling Iwaizumi towards the hallway.

“Yeah! Come on Iwa-chan, it’s in my room.”

“Get some Iwaizumi!”

“We’ll make sure no one disturbs you!”

Iwaizumi grabs a cushion as he’s dragged past Oikawa’s couch and pitches it at Makki’s face. It goes wide and hits a girl from their chemistry class on the back of the head. Before he can shout an apology, Oikawa has yanked him through the door and onto the stairs.

“Seriously Oikawa, you need to slow down, you’re drunk as fuck.”

“I’m _fine_ , Iwa-chan,” he says, just as he trips on the stairs and forcing Iwaizumi to grab him around the waist, “okay maybe I need to sit down a little.”

They make it to Oikawa’s room and he promptly flops down on his bed. Iwaizumi flicks the light on and grabs a half full water bottle from the desk.

“Drink this.”

He watches as Oikawa spills water down his chin, getting it mostly in his mouth. The air is warm around them, and Iwaizumi closes his eyes when a breeze blows through the open window next to the bed.

When he opens his eyes again Oikawa is leaning up back on his elbows, legs akimbo. He looks like something out of one of Iwaizumi’s fantasies. He blinks and tells himself it’s the alcohol going to his head.

“I’m not sure your sister should’ve bought you all that alcohol as a birthday present, 18 or not, I think you’ve gone in a bit hard.”

“But it was so nice of her.”

“Yeah, getting your kid brother and forty of his underaged friends drunk is really nice.”

“Iwa-chan, so serious, lighten up it’s my _birth_ day. I’m not _that_ drunk. And I’m an adult now, I can do what I want.” He smiles let’s his head fall back.

“Actually, your birthday is two weeks away, I’m the only one here who’s an adult.”

“Oh, well I do like an older man,” Oikawa smirks and bites his lip, letting his legs fall open a little further. His shorts ride up on his thighs – Iwaizumi wants to bite them. “Want me to call you daddy?”

Iwaizumi goes hot all over and all the blood in his body rushes downwards. “You’re disgusting, Pervykawa.”

Oikawa laughs and straightens up, reaching over to his bedside cabinet. There’s a dent in the cheap wood that Iwaizumi’s head had made two summers ago when they’d been wrestling over the last piece of candy. Oikawa had cried and grabbed his head, begging him not to die even as Iwaizumi had protested he was fine.

“Come on,” he folds his legs in front of him, digging out a small package and setting it in his lap.

Iwaizumi crosses to the bed and copies his position. Their knees and legs press close together on top of Oikawa’s alien sheets. The noise of the party downstairs seems very far away, and he feels like they could be children again, sharing this private and intimate space.

Except they aren’t the same now as they were when they were children. The flush on Oikawa’s cheeks when their legs press together and the smell of beer on his breath makes that painfully obvious.

The package is wrapped up with blue paper, decorated with space ships and stars – the kind you find next to the kids’ birthday cards in stores.

“You really like that space shit don’t you” Iwaizumi laughs.

“What’s _not_ to like, Iwa-chan?”

“Come on, Shittykawa, I want my present” he moves to take the gift out of Oikawa’s hands, but he pulls it back slightly and looks down.

“Before you open it I...” he blushes a little deeper, “I got this for you because I…I really like you, I like…our friendship. You’re really important to me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi stares at him, mouth slightly open, and lets Oikawa press the package into his slack hands.

He looks down, rubbing his thumb over the clear tape that holds the paper together, then digging in to tear it. It’s small; hardly bigger than Iwaizumi’s hand and not even an inch thick. He wonders distantly what could be so small yet cause Oikawa to be so flustered.

“Oh.”

His muscles in his forearms twitch. Tooru is tapping his fingers on his left knee. He gazes down at the gift in his lap and licks his lips.

“Do you like it?” Tooru’s voice is hesitant, slightly slurred with alcohol.

“Yeah, I…” he swallows, “yeah, I like it.”

Sitting unassumingly in the wrapping paper shreds is a small rectangle of brown cardboard embossed with silver text which Iwaizumi would have to read closely to translate from English, not that he needs to because he knows what this is.

Wrapped around the cardboard are two bracelets; red twine with silver charms in the shape of infinity symbols.

The implication of it makes Iwaizumi’s heart catch in his throat. Had Oikawa been thinking that when he’s bought them? About the deeply symbolic meaning behind them? Had he pondered over the decision for hours, or had it been a firm choice right away?

“You know what they are right? Red thread, like in the legend we learned about in elementary school?” his fingers are still tapping an irregular rhythm on his knee, a nervous habit that has always annoyed Iwaizumi. “Like, the red thread that links you to the person who you’re destined to…” he stutters over his words, “and I thought that that’s kind of like me and you.”

“Me and you.” Iwaizumi agrees, still staring down at the bracelets. He fears that if he looks up he might cry.

“And I got two because, you know, you can wear one, and I thought I could wear the other one, but obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to. You could give it to someone else, or you don’t even have to wear it at all if you don’t want – I know it’s a little weird. I don’t want you to feel weird about it so I can just…I was super nervous to give it to you, that’s why I had a lot to drink I guess and I - ”

Oikawa rambles when he’s nervous as well. Iwaizumi smiles and takes his left wrist in hand, stopping the incessant tapping. Oikawa closes his mouth with a soft smack as Iwaizumi eases one of the bracelets over his hand and secures it around his wrist, quickly doing the same with his own.

Oikawa breaks into a blinding grin, blush spreading all the way down his neck. Iwaizumi looks down at their wrists – the bright red of the string stands out against Oikawa’s pale wrist and his own darker skin.

“I didn’t get you anything” he blurts out a moment later when he looks up and sees Oikawa’s wide eyes and slick red lips, “I normally give you your gift on your birthday, so I haven’t had a chance to…”

His eyes are flickering down to Oikawa’s mouth. Oikawa’s own eyes follow the movement.

Oikawa shh’s him, moving his hands suddenly to Iwaizumi’s thighs. The warmth of his sweaty palms burns through his jeans as he pushes his weight down to move up onto his knees. He’s slightly taller now, and Iwaizumi has to tilt his head back to look up at him.

“That’s okay, Iwa-chan” he licks his lips and takes a shuddering breath in. Iwaizumi can smell alcohol on his breath, stale and earthy.

“No, I want to get you something you’ll like.”

Oikawa shuffles forward, over balancing and grabbing onto Iwaizumi’s shoulders for support, whose own hands fly up to his hips.

“That’s okay,” he repeats, face much closer now than before, “I know what you can give me that I’ll like.”

_Shit._

Iwaizumi feels like he’s missed a page in a book and suddenly isn’t following the storyline. Above him, Oikawa’s face is flushed, mouth parted and wet.

“What?” he doesn’t know what to say. It’s painfully, unbearably obvious to him what Oikawa wants, but he won’t believe it unless he hears it.

“Iwa-chan. _Hajime_ ,” Oikawa moves his hands to Hajime’s neck, thumbs pressing into the dips of his collarbones. He must be able to feel Hajime’s pulse, pounding like he’s just run ten miles, “Hajime.”

“Tooru.”

Tooru whines low in his throat, eyes slipping closed. Hajime can feel the heat of his skin under his hands, breath rushing warm over his mouth, foreheads pressed together. He wants, he wants, he wants this _so_ badly. He wants Tooru to take what he wants from him.

He presses his hands firmly against Tooru’s hip bones and the noise that comes out of his friend’s mouth is unreal.

“Yes” he breaths, licks his lips and leans in close, close, close…

There is an almighty _crash_ downstairs, followed by a series of shouts and cheers.

They spring apart, Tooru falling back against his pillows with a small cry of surprise.

Moments later, footsteps pound up the stairs, and a voice yells outside the door.

“Hey, Oikawa! Get your hands outta Iwaizumi’s pants, I think someone just broke your front door!”

Iwaizumi blinks and takes a gasping breath in. Before him, Oikawa exhales a shaky laugh and then roll to his feet.

“I guess I can’t leave those idiots alone for five minutes, huh?” He holds a hand out to pull Iwaizumi up.

They look at each other awkwardly for a moment, and Iwaizumi thinks about grabbing him and finishing what they’d started just moments before.

But then Oikawa looks away, and the moment is broken.

****

* * *

 

****

Tooru’s birthday this year falls just a couple of days before school finishes for break, so he and Iwa-chan wait until Saturday rolls around to celebrate. He’s planning to get up late, and walk lazily over to Iwa-chan’s house to spend the day playing video games, watching crappy sci-fi movies, and eating enough junk food to make their coach have a heart attack. This has been their tradition for the past ten years, and Tooru is looking forward to it immensely.

Tooru gets dressed lazily, thumbing through his wardrobe for something to wear that won’t cause him to die in the July heat. He tugs a pair of blue shorts out of a tottering pile and drags them up his thighs, fastening the button and tugging on the zipper.

He thinks about the last time he wore these shorts, the night of his and Iwa-chan’s party. He imagines that he can still feel the warm weight of Hajime’s hand on his leg, the press of his thumbs against his hip bones. His face flushes hotly. Warm, sweet breath against his mouth, Hajime’s eyes fluttering closed as he leaned forward, clearly wanting it as much as Tooru had.

Neither of them had brought it up since, but it wasn’t awkward like the thing by the river had been. Especially when Hajime had shyly pressed close when they’d hugged goodbye the morning after, smiling and blushing sweetly.

It had taken Tooru a good twenty minutes to calm down after that.

It’s about 9 am, and he’s just pulling a shirt over his head (light pink with a little alien head stitched onto the left side, cropped to show an inch of stomach and abs) when he hears the doorbell ring, and then his mother shouting for him to see who’s there.

Grumbling slightly, and trying to hand-brush his hair into looking perfectly tousled he skips down the stairs and yanks the front door open. He blinks when he sees Iwa-chan standing there grinning at him.

“Hey Trashykawa,” Iwa-chan says as he pushes inside, slapping Tooru on the shoulder as he passes, eyes flicking down to his belly button, “nice shirt, did you get lost in the girls’ section?”

“Rude, Iwa-chan,” comes the automatic response as Tooru swings the front door closed, but he rubs at the exposed strip of tummy self-consciously, “I thought I was coming to your house.” Turning to look at his friend, he notices the backpack Iwa-chan has hooked over his shoulder. “Are you going somewhere?”

Iwa-chan quirks a lop-sided grin, reaching into the side pocket of the bag and pulling out an envelope which has _Shittykawa_ written on the front in Iwa-chan’s handwriting. “Happy Birthday,” he says as he hands it over, light catching on the little silver charm of the bracelet around his wrist.

“Iwa-chaaaaan!” Tooru laughs in excitement, snatching the envelope and ripping into it eagerly. He doesn’t notice the faint blush on his friend’s face as he does so, completely fixated on opening the unexpected gift.

He pulls out a few pieces of paper, neatly folded together inside the greeting card. He raises his eyes to look at Iwa-chan who has dropped his backpack to the floor and is busy tugging off his shoes, avoiding Tooru’s eyes.

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you read it and find out, idiot.” Iwa-chan plucks the card and envelope out of his hands so he can unfold the pages. Tooru stares at them for a moment, reading carefully over each page, while Iwa-chan watches him with a soft smile. “Do you like it?” his voice is quiet and nervous. Tooru can feel himself tearing up.

“Iwa-chan,” his voices cracks with excitement and emotion, “don’t ask silly questions!” Then he lunges forward to grab his friend in a tight hug, forceful enough that Hajime stumbles back and knocks into the shoe rack behind him.

“What are you boys doing out here?!” Tooru’s mother sighs as she comes into the hallway, hands on hips and rolling her eyes at the commotion.

“Iwa-chan got us tickets to see the Japan National Team’s match tomorrow in Tokyo!” Tooru pulls out of the hug and beams at his mother, who laughs at his excitement and pats Hajime on the arm.

“Yes, I know,” she smiles at them both, “Hajime-kun and I have been planning it together for a while. Did you tell him you’re going today to stay the night as well?”

“ _Oh, my God Iwa-chaaaan!”_ Tooru tackles him again in another fierce hug, the bright sound of his mother’s laughter in the background as Iwa-chan grumbles and tries to push him away.

An hour later Tooru is jumping out of the car, dragging his backpack and Iwa-chan with him into the train station, shouting goodbye and _yes, I’ll text when we get there_ over his shoulder to his laughing mother. They rush to buy tickets, and just manage to jump onto the last carriage before the doors slide closed.

The train is kind of crowded, but Tooru spies to open seats halfway down and soon they’re flopped down into them, settling in for the journey. Tooru is so excited he could he can’t keep still, chattering animatedly to Iwa-chan, who is indulging him somewhat because of the occasion.

They make it about twenty minutes into the journey before Tooru remembers that he wants to Instagram this moment, and yanks his phone out to snap a picture. Again, Iwa-chan indulges him and let’s himself be manipulated into a Tooru-approved pose, a light smile and a peace sign next to Tooru’s own blinding grin.

“Wah, I don’t look good, let’s take another one,” Tooru complains, raising his phone again.

Iwa-chan tuts and pushes his hands away, “I agreed to one and that’s all you get _Shittykawa.”_ Tooru whines, but quickly quiets down when he notices that Hajime has kept hold of one of his hands. Their matching bracelets next to each other makes something clutch in his chest, and he tucks his phone away without further comment.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they make it to Tokyo and find their hotel it’s quite late in the day.

(“ _That guy on the desk was definitely flirting with you Iwa-chan.”_

_“He definitely was not.”_

_“Then why didn’t he look at me once the whole time we were checking in? And he complimented your shirt!”_

_“Why does it matter, Shittykawa? Jealous that he wasn’t looking at you?”_

_“N-no, I just…he was old enough to be your dad!”_

_“He was about twenty, Oikawa.”_

_“He was staring at your hands!”_

_“So, what? Are people not allowed to look at my hands?”_

_“No! Your hands belong to me.” A pause. “You know, for volleyball and…and…”_

_Hajime smirks, not consenting to give him an out._

_“… and stuff.” He blushes scarlet._

_Hajime unlocks their room door. “Is that why you grabbed my waist and said, ‘come on sweetheart’?”_

_“…shut up.”_

_“Want my hands all to yourself, do you?”_

_“SHUT UP!”)_

After grabbing a quick shower and changing into fresh clothes, they walk back out onto the street. Tooru glares at the desk attendant on the way out. Iwa-chan winks at him.

It’s crowded with tourists and locals alike, and Tooru tells himself that’s why he grabs hold of Iwa-chan’s hand - so they don’t get separated. The other boy blushes lightly but says nothing.

They cut down into the subway, and jump on the train to Harajuku because Tooru has been saying he wants to go there ever since they set off that morning. The subway is much more crowded than their morning train had been though, and they have to stand pressed up against each other, Iwa-chan holding onto a handrail, and Tooru holding onto Iwa-chan. Their bodies are pressed tightly together, and Tooru can feel the tense muscles of his friend’s stomach, the flex of his arms when he shifts slightly, and furiously thinks about _anything else_.

When the pair finally emerges back into the daylight Iwa-chan has to endure an hour of Tooru flitting from one quaint store to the other, picking up everything and cooing over various items. He even manages to convince Iwa-chan to try on a flower crown, which leaves Tooru giggling and the former blushing in annoyance. When his friend is distracted with something else, Tooru takes both crowns up to the counter and hands over some cash before stuffing them into his bag.

“Come on Iwa-chaaaan,” Tooru grabs him by the hand and bounds out of the store, “I’m starving.”

They end up at a cheap noodle place, because they don’t have that much money between them, but the food is still good and the company is the part that matters anyway. They reminisce on birthdays that they’ve spent together in previous years, recounting old memories that have them crying with laughter. Iwa-chan smacks him hard on the arm and chest a few times, but not a severely as he normally would.

Tooru wonders if his friend is feeling the same strange feeling that he is; that here in the big city they’re anonymous, just two friends out together in the early evening, enjoying each other’s company. If their hands catch together as they walk out of the restaurant and back down into the subway then it doesn’t matter. And when they lean against each other in the swaying train car they could be anybody. Real life doesn’t seem to really exist.

Iwa-chan pulls him along the street a few minutes later, and then lets Tooru spin him around to take a selfie in front of the Tokyo Sky Tree.

“Don’t you want to take one from the top instead?” he asks his friend teasingly, laughing when Tooru shrieks and yanks him by the arm to run towards the towering structure.

They keep their hands clasped together all through the ride up to the top, and as they stand looking out at the city skyline, the sun setting in bursts of pink and orange all around. Even though he’s slightly shorter, Hajime presses close against his back and crowds Tooru against the railings. Standing on tip toes to tuck his chin over his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around his friend’s waist, breathing slowly together.

Tooru thinks about how easy it would be now to spin around and kiss him. His heart aches with how much he wants it. But there are people all around, and as much as they can hug and hold hands, he doesn’t think that kissing in public is something that Hajime would like.

“Don’t you want to take a picture?” Hajime murmurs in his ear several minutes later as they watch the sun slipping below the skyline.

Tooru tightens his hold on Hajime’s arms and tips his head back slightly. The red string of their bracelets rubs together. “No, I think I’m good for the moment.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning has Iwaizumi blinking awake slowly. He’s unbearably warm and desperately needs to pee. Oikawa’s head is tucked underneath his chin, arms wrapped tightly around him and one leg pressed between his knees.

They’d fallen asleep like that last night, wrapped up together after falling into bed exhausted from the day.

Iwaizumi hadn’t wanted to tell Oikawa to go to his own bed, so he just let him stay. It’s not unusual, or even unfamiliar, for them to share a bed – given how long they’ve known each other Iwaizumi has almost come to expect it.

They had whispered to each, even though there was no one to disturb, heads close enough to share the same air. Oikawa had laughed and let his hand rest on Iwaizumi’s neck. He’d been too sleepy to take his glasses off, so Iwaizumi had done it for him, blushing at how painfully intimate it had felt.

He’d blushed even harder when Oikawa had pressed himself close and brushed a kiss over his collarbone, before falling asleep almost instantly.

Iwaizumi thinks about that time by the river, Oikawa spread out beneath him, face flushed, pressed hard against him. Not unlike how they are now. He thinks about the night of their party, and Tooru's hot breath against his mouth, how his name had sounded on Tooru’s tongue. His body aches for it.

Iwaizumi doesn’t let himself linger on those thoughts, he doesn’t need to get hard right now, not with his best friend wrapped up against him. He forces himself to pull away from Oikawa, careful not to wake him as he clambers out of bed and creeps into the bathroom.

A short while later (having pissed and then taken a cool shower), Iwaizumi steps back into the nondescript hotel room to find Oikawa in almost the same position he’d left him in. Except now he’s got his phone in his hand and glasses perched on his nose. The combination of glasses and bed-head make Iwaizumi want to freeze the moment in time so he can spend an eternity gazing at its beauty.

The shutter sound registers with Iwaizumi just as they make eye contact.

“Good morning Iwa-chan!”

“That better not be a picture of me you just took” Iwaizumi states, fixed his face into a glare and advancing on Oikawa. He’s extremely conscious of the fact that he’s just in a towel and still damp from his shower.

“Okay,” Oikawa chirps, smirking, “I didn’t just take a photo of you.”

“Oh, you’re so dead Shittykawa.”

“No, Iwa-chan” Oikawa laughs and tries to untangle himself from the blankets, “you wouldn’t hurt your best friend on his birthday… _OUCH IWA-CHAAAAAAN_!”

Still complaining about the jabs Iwaizumi had given him to the ribs, they check out of the hotel an hour later and catch the subway to the game. Oikawa’s bitching soon cuts off when they jump off the train and head up towards the entrance of the gymnasium.

“Iwa-chan this is so awesome!” His eyes are lit up like stars, crinkled at the corners with the force of his grin. He turns catches Iwaizumi’s hand for the who-know-how-many-th time. “Thank you for bringing me,” his voice is quiet and full of vulnerable sincerity, “this is so much better than what I got you, it’s not fair.”

Iwaizumi looks down at their joined hands and the bracelet that is looped around his wrists. He knocks his shoulder lightly into Oikawa’s, “I don’t know, I liked your present a lot.”

Oikawa blushes scarlet and looks away with a typical “ _Iwa-chan, so embarrassing”_ before dragging them towards the entrance hall.

The game is amazing. The Men’s National Team plays a great match and, even if it is just a friendly, they’re on top form and the stands are packed out. He and Oikawa talk excitedly about each play as it happens, cheering and chanting along with the rest of the crowd, hugging each other when the players get a particularly good point.

Iwaizumi pictures Oikawa on the court in the red uniform; face flushed, mouth set, eyes determined as he steps up to serve. It pangs in his heart in a strange way. He can’t imagine where he himself would fit into the image.

As the game finishes and they’re getting ready to leave, a middle-aged woman who has been sitting next to them turns to Oikawa and asks if he’d like her _to take a picture of you and your boyfriend_.

Iwaizumi flushes. “Oh, we’re not-”

“Yes, please,” Oikawa cuts him off and yanks him back into his seat, already handing over his phone, “that’s so kind of you.”

So, Iwaizumi just lets it happen, blushing red the whole time, gasping a breath in when Oikawa leans across to press a kiss right to his cheekbone. As soon as Oikawa gets his camera back and the woman leaves he smacks his friend over the head.

“Ouch! Iwa-chan!”

“You’re such a dumbass” he grumbles. But later, when they’re on the train home and Oikawa has fallen asleep on his shoulder, he sees the picture on his Instagram feed. Without thinking too hard about it, he saves it to his phone and lets his head rest on top of Tooru’s.

 

* * *

 

****

He doesn’t spend much time browsing the app and doesn’t even follow that many accounts. A couple of his favourite professional players, some of his team mates, his sister, and of course his shitty best friend are the only accounts he actually gives a shit about.

So obviously the majority of his feed on any given day is just _full_ of Oikawa’s selfies and aesthetically pleasing shots.

His most recent posts have all been of himself and his family at the beach where he’s visiting his grandmother. Every post is _#Oikawafamilyvacation_ , for the fangirls who actually give a shit about that kind of thing, and it makes Iwaizumi roll his eyes everytime he sees it.

He could easily stop opening the app though. Delete it from his phone, or log out of his account; ignore Oikawa’s daily activities and get on with his own dwindling vacation time, but every time he tries to leave his phone in his room and do other things he finds himself drawn to it.

So here he finds himself now – the seemingly endless days of break stretching before him holding all kinds of promise – wasting his time by half sitting, half laying on his bed staring at his phone. It’s like he’s got a compulsive need to see what Oikawa is up to at all times of the day.

But he hasn’t posted anything today, and it's already past midday which is niggling at Iwaizumi. His idiot friend _never_ goes more than about eight hours without posting, and that’s only because he has to sleep at some point, _to stay a beautiful and youthful as I am Iwa-chan._

Without really thinking about it, Iwaizumi has scrolled back several months into Oikawa’s account, lingering over pictures from the last school year. Mainly generic selfies and other normal, self-indulgent crap, but, as he scrolls back a little further, a picture catches his eye.

It’s another selfie which, to the untrained eye, looks like any of the other hundred or more Oikawa has posted in the last two years. But Iwaizumi knows him better than that, knows every possible way that this boy can smile and this isn’t like the others.

He leans forward to get a closer look, elbows resting on his knees and bring the phone closer to his face. It’s a simple shot, and as he looks closer he can see that it’s not a selfie at all, but that someone else is clearly holding the camera. Tooru’s upper body dominates the shot, showing off his volleyball jersey, the fabric clinging to him with sweat as he’s obviously just finished playing.

It must be from last year because Tooru isn’t wearing his bracelet. He takes it off for the court but slips it back on again the second they enter the locker room.

Hajime can see the redness on his right palm where it’s twisted in the shoulder strap of his kit bag, haphazardly draped across his body, and it makes his chest feel uncomfortably tight with _something_ he isn’t yet willing to give a name.

As he continues to examine the image he notes that his friend isn’t even looking at the camera, or the person taking the picture, but off to one side at something out of frame. Tooru’s eyes are lighting up with a smile that is soft and genuine, and almost intimate in its openness. He remembers when this photo was taken, and can almost see himself just out of frame, running up to punch Oikawa in the arm in celebration.

This is a smile that does not appear for the public, for Oikawa’s fangirls and hangers-on, or for their coach and teammates. Hajime has only ever seen it when he and Tooru are together. The comfortable familiarity of their decade-or-more-old friendship; the smile they’ve shared countless times in the small hours of the morning under blankets, hiding from their parents in the garden, racing each other home after practice, sharing bites of stolen treats in the kitchen.

It’s so achingly familiar in person, and yet so startling to see it captured on film that Hajime…doesn’t quite know what he feels. It makes his chest ache and his fingers itch for _something_ (Tooru) that he doesn’t really think twice before tapping twice to _like_ the picture, breathing slightly heavier than he was two minutes beforehand.

And then, startled by the sudden _tink_ of a message alert on his phone, he realises what he’s done.

 

* * *

 

 

“What have you been doing, I called like a million times!”

The voice is loud and high-pitched in his ear. Iwaizumi groans. He’s already regretting finally answering the phone.

“Iwa-chan!? Are you there?! If I’m talking to your butt right now I guess it might have better conversation skills than you do.” Oikawa giggles lightly at his own joke. _Eugh._

“Shut up, _Shittykawa_ , I’m here”, Iwaizumi growls, ripping up a handful of grass from next to where he’s sitting leaning up against the back wall of his house. It’s several hours later and there’s a slight chill in the air as the sun starts to set. He can hear his mother singing in the kitchen as she prepares dinner, and if he closes his eyes and imagines a little bit it might be like a hundred evenings he’s spent with Oikawa in his back garden, talking and laughing together.

“Alright, _rude_. No need to be so grouchy Iwa-chan, _you’re_ the one who’s been ignoring _me_ all day” Oikawa’s voice comes softer down the line than before, and Iwaizumi can hear that he’s got that annoying grin on his face.

“I haven’t been ignoring you, I’ve had shit to do. Not everyone can spend all day hanging around the beach and doing nothing.”

“I’m on _vacation_ Iwa-chaaaan, I’m allowed to not do anything all day. Besides, I know I’ve already finished all my school work for the start of term, how about you?” Shittykawa’s tone is annoyingly smug and mocking, it gets under Iwaizumi’s skin.

He rips up some more grass and shifts the phone is his hand, ready to get defensive, “listen, fuckhead, I didn’t answer this call to- “, but Oikawa cuts him off.

“Alright don’t get all angry sweetheart,” he giggles, and Iawizumi can just picture him waving his hand and shaking his head, “I know you’re not angry with me _reeeeally_. I mean you did like that picture I posted _months ago_ didn’t you, so clearly you miss me and can’t wait for me to come home and fall into your arms.”

And damn. There it is. The conversation that Iwaizumi had been praying to just _avoid_ for the rest of his natural life. He purposely hadn’t replied to any of Oikawa’s texts – _especially_ the string of exclamation marks, question marks, and heart emojis he’d been spammed with as soon as he’d liked Oikawa’s stupid picture.

But he can’t avoid his friend forever, and he wants to be able to sleep without his phone buzzing every six seconds. So here he is, having this conversation.

“Yeah, you wish.” He’s only glad this is happening over the phone instead of in person so his friend can’t see the intense blush burning across his cheeks. He plucks some more grass up and looks at the red band around his wrist, heart clenching in his chest.

He hears Oikawa shuffling around and settling into a different position, and when he next speaks it seems much closer. More intimate - as if he’s sitting right next to him and speaking directly into Hajime’s ear. His voice is thick and slow like honey when he hums and says, “you know I do.”

All the breath leaves Hajime’s body at once. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, doesn’t move at all. Just listens to the slow breathing he can hear from Tooru on the other end of the line and tries not to spontaneously combust as his whole body burns with _want_.

If he were here in person Hajime would shove him, or punch him the arm. Or maybe grab him and whisper ‘ _yes, I want that too’_. But Tooru isn’t here, and his voice sounds so good in Hajime’s ear, and he _misses_ him.

He takes a gasping breath in, hoping that Tooru doesn’t hear it down the phone, even though the speaker is jammed to his face in panic, and is about to say _something, anything_ when Oikawa’s laugh comes down the phone abruptly, breaking the tension in a split-second.

“Silly Iwa-chan, no need to get so flustered!” He laughs again, “I can practically feel you blushing a hundred miles away.”

“Shut up _Trashykawa”_ Iwaizumi finally chokes out, huffing half a laugh to cover the catch in his throat, “stop being a dick and tell me about your shitty vacation.”

So, they sit and talk for the next hour, a hundred miles apart, sharing a small intimate space that they’ve settled into over so many years of knowing each other. And as Oikawa sits out in his grandmother’s back garden, leaning again the back wall of the house and imagining that he can hear Hajime’s mother singing in the kitchen and feel his friend’s body heat in the dying sunlight, it feels almost like home.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa's sheets: https://cdn.shoplo.com/9399/products/th1024/aba5/2028-posciel-ufoki.jpg
> 
> Oikawa's shirt: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/2e/14/55/2e1455e5a41057ec66714c81537a1dec.jpg
> 
> The bracelets: https://img0.etsystatic.com/155/0/9353403/il_570xN.1146744748_lg2d.jpg
> 
> (Will they ever get that kiss?! Who knows?!)


	3. Autumn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the long delay in updating this! Like I said in the last chapter, I had to rewrite a lot of this, and then life got in the way, etc, etc. But here we are with the next chapter! Hope it was worth the wait!

* * *

 

 

“What are you doing after school?”

The question floats up to him from the floor of his bedroom where Oikawa is sprawled out, back pressed to the floor and legs kicked up on the bed next to where Iwaizumi’s sitting propped up on several cushions. Iwaizumi spares him a glance, lifting his eyes from his mathematics homework. One practice-worn hand rests across his stomach where his shirt has ridden up to reveal his navel, and the other is tucked under his head. He looks away quickly.

“Tomorrow? We have practice, idiot, like every day after school.” He glares down at the problem he’s been trying to work out for the past ten minutes, trying not to get distracted by Oikawa’s foot taping against his thigh.

“Iwa-chaaan,” his captain drawls, as he knew he would, “I _mean_ what are you doing when we _graduate_?!”

Iwa-chan knows that’s what he meant. It’s the same question he’s been asking him for the past few months, and every time he’s avoided answering it. He thinks of his fit of anger several months before, and of the scraps of paper that were once his half-completed application forms, probably long-since recycled into paper coffee cups.

He never had printed out any new forms.

“I don’t know, university.” The obvious answer, the same answer he’s been using since middle school when people started asking him with increasing degrees of seriousness and concern. _You need to decide what you’re going to do after school finishes, Izaizumi-kun_. And he knows, he _knows_ that he’s running out of time to make his choice.

Oikawa moves his arms to lean on his elbows, raising his head to peer at Iwaizumi from under his lashes. His own mathematics homework is scattered around him, long abandoned in favour of annoying Iwaizumi instead. “You still haven’t decided?”

His voice is oddly sincere, and it settles deep in the pit of Hajime’s stomach. His hands clench and his jaw tighten as he stares, resolutely and carefully, at the textbook in his lap.

He knows why he hasn’t decided yet, but he doesn’t want to voice that to Tooru because it’s _stupid_. It’s ridiculous and childish. This fantasy that he’s been carefully constructing for as long as he can remember – him and Tooru going to the same university, playing volleyball together on the university team, living in a little apartment together. Together, together, _together_. He doesn’t want to face the reality of not achieving that just yet.

As well as that, the tentative progress they have made in their new, more _intimate_ relationship is fragile; it’s not something he’s even ready to name, much less smash into pieces with his insecurities and self-doubts. Not sitting here in his childhood bedroom with stickers on the walls and stains on the carpet. It scares him a little bit how much he’s shared with Tooru over the years in this very room. But this isn’t like an embarrassing crush admission or crying after a soppy movie. This is something he can’t tell.

“I’ve been busy,” he shrugs, as if it doesn’t bother him in the slightest that he knows they probably end up separated in the not-nearly-distant-enough future, “I just haven’t had the time.” He fiddles with the red cord of his bracelet.

After a few moments of silence, in which he makes a few random pencil marks in his book, just to avoid Tooru’s eyes, his friend sighs and let’s his head fall back against the floor. A socked foot presses hard against his thigh.

Hajime looks down at him. He’s got his eyes closed now, arms folded loosely over his stomach, hair falling across his forehead softly.

He looks like everything Hajime’s ever wanted.

Suddenly overcome with that desire to capture this moment in time, he picks up his phone from where it’s resting next to his leg and swipes at the screen. His Instagram app is still open from when he’d been browsing earlier in the evening, so he just opens the in-app camera to snap a picture of this beautiful boy laid out before him.

_Click_

The shutter sound has Tooru blinking his eyes open, startled.

“Did you just take a picture of me” he squawks indignantly, “without warning me first?!” At least it broke the tension.

Iwaizumi smirks and posts the image with no filter and no caption, as he posts all his pictures. The picture doesn’t really do justice to the way Oikawa had looked in that moment, but it’ll do as a nice reminder. Oikawa is scrabbling for his phone within seconds and complaining _Iwa-chaaaaan_ when he sees the image.

Iwa-chan just laughs at him and calls him an idiot.

 

* * *

 

 

Oikawa’s sudden gasp and his loud exclamation of _oh my god_ followed by frantic tapping of his phone screen would be enough for someone else to jump, or panic and ask what’s wrong. But Iwaizumi is well seasoned in Oikawa’s dramatics by now and he doesn’t even look it from his notebook.

“Are you actually going to help me with this, or are you just going to sit there and stare at your phone?” Iwaizumi makes a note of something in his pad, “I was hoping to get, you know, _practice_ today Shittykawa, not just sit around planning _your_ team’s training for you.”

Oikawa looks up at him, hair falling across his forehead. He glances down at Iwaizumi’s notebook, “but Iwa-chan you’ve done _such_ a good job! I’m _delegating_ to you, that’s why you’re my vice-captain.”

Iwaizumi glares at him. Across the other side of the gym some first years are practicing receives. A ball goes wide and flies towards Oikawa’s face at full speed. Iwaizumi throws a hand out and catches it just as it’s about to make contact.

Oikawa, the insufferable dick, doesn’t even blink.

“ _That’s_ why I’m your vice.”

“To rescue my pretty face from flying balls? Why Iwa-chan, I didn’t know you cared.”

“My impeccable reflexes, great spatial awareness, and the ability to save your ass from whatever dumb shit you get yourself into” he replies snappishly, ignoring the obvious joke and tossing the ball back across the gym. “Not that you _deserve_ any of it, you obnoxious dick.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and looks back to his phone, still smirking. There is a short silence and then suddenly Oikawa gasps again.

“What are you doing Shittykawa?! Stop sounding like you’re reading that someone’s died!”

“But Iwa-chan look at this cat! It’s so cute that _I_ might literally die!”

“You’re a mess.”

“So rude, Iwa-chan” Oikawa pouts, leaning forward and shoving his phone (which does indeed show a picture of a very cute cat) in Iwaizumi’s face, “look, look, look!”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes, hand coming up to rest on the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Oikawa, seriously, we need to finish this _today_. The next game is right around the corner. I’m surprised you aren’t over there drilling the team into the ground.”

“Why, do you enjoy the thought of me _drilling_ someone into the ground?”

Iwaizumi blushes hard and smacked him over the back of the head with his clipboard. It’s still hot out, even though it’s almost October. The heat in the gym is making him more irritable than normal, and Oikawa’s refusal to plan this schedule with him is grating on his last nerve.

It doesn’t help that his captain has been like this all day. Making innuendoes and comments and touching him idly; linking their fingers together on the walk to school, pressing his forehead in between Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades while they waited at the vending machine, the foot resting against his bare thigh now as they sit in the gym.

“My knee needs a break. Besides, Iwa-chan, don’t worry about it, I’ve got it all planned out in my head already.”

“Oikawa, that’s not the point it - ”

“Hey, have you submitted those application forms for college yet?”

Iwaizumi glares at him over his clipboard and notepad; across the gym one of the first years gets smack in the face with a stray ball and yelps in surprised and pain. “When are you gonna shut up about that?”

“When you actually fill them in and send them off.” Oikawa glances up from his phone to eye the first years, “Hey, pay attention next time! You could lose us a point if you get hit in the face during a match!”

“You’re _such_ a caring guy, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa smiles at him innocently and throws up a peace sign, “hey come over tonight, we can do those forms together.”

Iwaizumi looks at him murderously but agrees nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, let’s play truth or dare!”

“Oikawa, no I’m tired as hell, I woke up at five thirty.” He’s done morning practice, a full school day, another practice, and now spent two hours grudgingly filling in applications, putting up with the other boy’s hands on him throughout all of it. And now they’re lying together in Oikawa’s bed. He needs sleep. Or for Oikawa to stop teasing him and do something. Or both.

“Fiiiiiine, just truth then, spoil sport. You go first.” His eyes are too big and pleading to ignore.

“Ugh, I don’t know…what’s your most embarrassing story?”

“Tsk, silly Iwa-chan, I’ve never embarrassed myself.”

“Ha – that’s a lie!” Iwaizumi jabs him in the ribs, grinning, “what about that time you pissed yourself in front of that girl you liked?”

Oikawa groans and rolls closer towards him, hands over his face, pushing his glasses up into his hair, “Iwa-chaaan, that was in the first grade!”

“Still hilarious though.”

“So mean!”

“Ask me something.”

Oikawa considers him carefully, hands moving from covering his face to rest on the bed between them. “Are you a virgin?”

Iwaizumi springs up into a half sitting position, making Oikawa cry out as the bed dips and jostles him. “What kind of dumb question is that, Shittykawa?”

“That sounds like a yes to me, Iwa-chan!” he tugs on the other boy’s shoulder to make him lay down again. Iwaizumi still refused to make eye contact though. “Okay, have you ever done anything with someone?”

“You mean with a girl?” Iwaizumi replies tentatively.

“It doesn’t have to be a girl.”

“Huh?”

“It could be with a guy,” Oikawa unexpectedly blushes a little at that, Iwaizumi can see from the corner of his eye, “or both.”

“Could be.”

“You mean you have?”

“What?”

“With a guy.”

“Maybe.”

“What?! Who? When?”

“I said maybe Oikawa, don’t get all excited.”

Oikawa suddenly shifts, and his face comes into view above Iwaizumi. He resettles his glasses onto his face to better stare at the other. “But did you like, kiss some guy?” he says, his tone hard to define: worried, or curious, or accusatory. Iwaizumi isn’t sure which one is better.

“Maybe I did, what’s it to you, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi feels nervous, seeing how flustered this gets Oikawa.

“I just…I just didn’t know you were such a…a _Casanova_!”

Iwaizumi has to laugh at that, placing his hand on Oikawa’s waist to hold him steady where he’s kneeling. “What are you, eighty? Who _uses_ words like that?! Look I’m fucking with you,” he grins at his friend’s pouting expression, “the closest I’ve got to kissing anyone is the night of our party.”

Oikawa’s face colours such a deep red that Iwaizumi can almost feel the burning heat of it. Or maybe that’s his own cheeks, surely a vibrate scarlet as well.  

“Oh, you almost hooked up with someone then?” Oikawa’s tone is forcefully light, his voice trembling as he glances away. It painfully obvious that they’re both thinking about the same thing, even as Oikawa pretends not to know.

“Almost.” Iwaizumi pushes himself up on one elbow, faking nonchalance, one hand still clutching at Tooru’s waist. “He came on pretty strong to me, but we got interrupted before anything happened.”

“Ah – that’s a shame, Iwa-chan,” Tooru gasps, shifting against Iwaizumi’s grip and staring at a spot somewhere left of his cheek.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I have.”

Iwaizumi blinks at the sudden non-sequitur. “What?”

“I’ve kissed a guy before. A couple of times.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long pause. Iwaizumi stares at Tooru while Tooru stares at Iwaizumi’s mouth. Tooru clears his throat after a moment and shifts to lean a little closer, one knee pressed close between Iwaizumi’s parted legs. It’s a perfect recreation of the way they were on the night of the party. Expect this time no-one’s drunk, and there’s no one in the house to interrupt them, Iwaizumi thinks with a thrilling shiver.

“What was it like?”

“Huh?” Tooru blinks; gaze snapping from lips to eyes.

“What was it like when you kissed this guy?”

“It was…kind of…weird, I don’t know.”

“Weird how?”

“Just weird, Iwa-chan, I don’t know.”

Another pause; Iwaizumi licks his lips and watches Tooru’s gaze shift downwards.

“I could…” Tooru waves his hand between them.

“You could what?”

“Show you,” Tooru whispers almost too quickly be understood, but Iwaizumi catches it anyway.

They stare at each other for a second before Iwaizumi replies. “Okay.”

They’ve been dancing around this for so long it almost doesn’t seem real. Surely it’s harder than this? Surely it won’t be as simple as Tooru asking to kiss him, and Hajime saying yes? Surely there should be a big, grand moment or gesture, like in one of those sappy movies his mother watches?

“What?”

“I said, ‘okay’,” he watches Tooru’s throat move as he swallows hard, “yes, show me.”

Clearly, it is that easy.

Tooru blinks and then leans forward, arm moving next to Iwaizumi’s head to support his weight.

Their faces are an inch apart, and now it really is painfully reminiscent of the night on Tooru’s bed at their party. Iwaizumi’s mind throws up a picture of Oikawa kneeling over him on the bed just like this, cheeks flushed with alcohol, mouth spit-slick and begging to be kissed.

His face is flushed now as well, but his eyes are clear behind his glasses, and Iwaizumi just has time to see his lips tremble slightly before they are pressed dryly against his own.

Their mouths make a soft _pop_ when Oikawa pulls better, eyes closed behind his glasses, lips parted in a heavy exhale.

“I don’t see how that was weird,” Iwaizumi says after a moment, voice low and rough. A hot-tight-squeeze feeling grips his stomach. His head feels light and heavy all at once. And just from one peck on the lips.

“Oh” Tooru breathes, “maybe I didn’t do it quite the same as before.”

He sees his chance and grabs it with both hands. “You should try again, show me exactly what you mean this time.”

“Yeah.”

“Here,” Iwaizumi gently removes Tooru’s glasses with trembling hands, tossing them onto the pillow at their side, “this might make it easier.”

Tooru is already leaning in again when Iwaizumi turns his head back, suddenly confident, and they’re kissing again, mouths pressed hard together. Tooru’s hands fist into Iwaizumi’s shirt and pull him in even closer, breathing out harshly through his nose. Iwaizumi hums in approval. Their red string bracelets rub against each other when Iwaizumi grips at the other boy’s wrists, holding him in place to kiss him more deeply.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru gasps out when they break apart, going back in for another bruising kiss, “ _Hajime_.”

Hajime’s world closes down completely until all that exists is Tooru; mouth pressed hotly against his own, tongue flicking tentatively at his bottom lip, hands moving to cup his neck and hold him firmly in place. He hums in pleasure as Tooru leans forward further to press their chests together and push him flat on his back, one leg still pressed between his thighs.

“Oikawa,” he says (or if he’s being honest, _moans_ ) “this is-”

Tooru shushes him with a wet kiss. “Call me Tooru,” he begs, “please, call me by my name when you’ve got me like this.”

_‘Ha!’_ Hajime thinks wildly, ‘ _when_ I’ve _got_ you _like this!’_ But rather than voicing his amusement he just breathes out the other boy’s name in a low, hot tone that makes Tooru whine low in his throat and attack his mouth once again.

They kiss like that for an indeterminate length of time, a deliciously hard press of lips and tongue. It’s messy and sloppy because they’re both (despite what Tooru would have everyone believe) completely inexperienced at it. But Hajime doesn’t _care_. It’s so perfect – Tooru’s arms framing his head, gasping breath against his lips, leg pressed firmly between his thighs.

Only when it becomes somewhat obvious the effect this is having on both of them does Tooru pull back, panting heavily, eyes still firmly shut, and lips kissed bright red. Hajime can feel his friend’s hard cock pressed against his stomach and has to close his eyes against the sight and feel of it, willing himself to even out his own rapid breathing.

“Hey,” Hajime says, voice coming out low and throaty, “are you okay?”

Tooru opens his eyes slowly, and a wide grin spreads over his mouth. “Hajime” he says like he’s uttering the name of something sacred, “Hajime.”

“Was that the kind of thing you wanted to show me?” Tooru moves off him gently, tucking up against his side and resting his hand on Hajime’s chest. The bracelet tugs on the material of Hajime’s shirt.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I didn’t think it was that weird.”

Tooru laughs breathlessly in his ear, and Hajime lets his eyes slip closed, feeling amazingly contented even as his heart pounds like he’s run a marathon. Tooru says something else to him, but he’s already falling down into sleep, the seventeen-hour day finally catching up to him.

He falls asleep in his clothes on top of the covers with the bedside light still on and sleeps better than he has in months, with Tooru’s breath soft in his ear, and his hand resting heavy on his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

Summer has finally cooled into autumn proper; air growing crisper by the day, the trees are jeweled with orange and red leaves. The day before the Spring Tournament Preliminaries, Oikawa drags him into a small park they’ve been passing on the way home from school for the past three years but have never set foot in before.

“Come on, Oikawa, it’s _cold_. My mom’s making hotpot.”

“But _Iwa-chan_ , look how pretty the leaves look! I just wanna take one photo and then we can go.”

Oikawa’s eyes are bright and pleading, mouth turned down in a pout, tugging on his hand like an excited child. Iwaizumi is powerless to resist.

“Fine, you get ten minutes and then I’m leaving you here to freeze,” he grumbles, pulling his scarf closer.

Oikawa nods furiously, releasing his grip and throwing his bag in Iwaizumi’s general direction and skipping off to find the perfect selfie angle amongst the foliage. Six months ago, he would have left Oikawa’s backpack on the ground to gather moisture and dead leaves. But now Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and grabs the straps, flopping down onto a convenient but cold metal bench.

He lets his head fall back, Oikawa’s backpack pressed against his leg, arms hanging between his knees. The sky is overcast; clouds heavy with rain, obscuring the setting sun. The air tastes cold in his mouth. He wishes vaguely for warmer weather and brighter days.

Summer had stretched on well into October (Iwaizumi supposes he has global warming to thank for that) and it had been like living someone else’s life. The looming questions of his future had seemed distant and unreal, a problem for someone else to deal with. The days he had spent with Oikawa had stretched endlessly, sun-soaked and vibrant. The nights had seemed even longer, too hot to be under the covers but still pressed close together. The intimate moments which they had shared together seemed now to be a lifetime ago, Oikawa with his teasing smiles, his flirtatious words. Even the most recent and heart-stopping development in their relationship – the night he had spent being pressed into Oikawa’s mattress, gasping into each hot press of mouth on mouth, and relishing in the amazing feeling of Oikawa’s body against his– seemed like a distant memory, not at all like the mere week ago that it had been.

And now that the days are growing colder he feels as though he’s being sucked back into a state of hideous uncertainty, desperately reaching out for something that might not even be within his grasp.

Oikawa’s grown distant since that night ( _God, that night)_ , with the looming tournament, working himself harder and harder at practice, deaf to his friend’s ( _boyfriend’s?)_ sharp reminder to not work himself into the ground. By the time he allows himself to be dragged home the sun has long since set and the cold has crept into Iwaizumi’s skin. It’s a million miles away from where they were, and Iwaizumi isn’t sure how to get it back.

That one night can’t be all he gets. Now he’s had a taste he wants more. _Needs_ _more_.

Oikawa is seemingly so preoccupied that he doesn’t do much more than flash the other boy a smile before heading off to his own house at the corner of the street. A couple of times Iwaizumi has gotten a brief kiss on the mouth. But only when Oikawa is feeling most pleased with his performance during practice.

And graduation continues to creep ever closer.

The applications in his desk drawer are still sitting half completed. He hasn’t yet had the courage to mark them up with any more ink and information. It bites at the back of his mind, the thought sinking its teeth into his spine, demanding attention every hour of the day. He and Oikawa never did get around to finishing filling them in that day, and it still colours his cheeks to think about how he had become so distracted.

He exhales heavily. The clouds overhead thicken even more, threatening to spilt open at any moment and drown him.

“Hey.” A foot nudges his leg and then Oikawa plops down into the space next to him. Iwaizumi looks away from the sky and brings his arms up to rest along the back of the bench.

“Hey. Get your shot?” His tone gives away nothing of the inner turmoil he is experiencing.

“Yep!” Oikawa chirps happily, and then quirks his head to one side, “what’s wrong? You look _super_ serious.”

_It’s nothing_ , he thinks. _Take your chance_ , he thinks. He leans over and kisses Oikawa right there, right in the middle of the park. A firm press of their mouths, his hand cupping the other boy’s neck possessively. The sudden burst of confidence surprises them both.

He pulls back after a long moment and takes in Oikawa’s flushed face and half-closed eyes.

“What if I fuck up tomorrow?” he blurts out. _Damn_ , he hadn’t even been actively thinking about _that_ issue. But then maybe it’s just gotten lost down in all the other shit that’s plaguing him right now.  Maybe it’s the terrifying need to has to give all of himself to Oikawa.

His friend observes him for a second, moving his foot up to the bench and resting his chin on his knee. He licks his lips.  Iwaizumi can tell he’s trying to decide if he should answer as a friend or a captain.

“Are you planning on fucking up tomorrow?” He’s decided on the latter then.

“Well, I’m not _planning_ on it, no.”

“Well, then there’s no problem, Iwa-chan.” His tone is light, but his gaze is weighted with sincerity.

The bright red of Oikawa’s bracelet is peaking out of his coat sleeve. Iwaizumi tugs it further out, thumbing the silver charm, fingers brushing against the warm skin on the inside of Oikawa’s wrist. His hands are suddenly freezing so he pushes further into Oikawa’s coat sleeve, seeking out the warmth of his arms, wishing he could just crawl inside them and stay there until the whole year is over.

“Yeah, but…” _what if I’m the reason we don’t play together again?_ He doesn’t say it aloud, but he knows Oikawa knows what he’s thinking. He must be thinking it too. Surely? They both know how the stronger player is.

“‘The team with the better six is strongest’, isn’t that what you told me once? _We_ are the better six, Iwa-chan.”

He remembers when he’d said that to Oikawa all that time ago, throwing the words out into the air between them like a punch. He wonders if that’s how it had felt to Oikawa at the time – like a punch to the chest. That’s not how he says it now. It’s soft like a lover’s endearment.

“Your confidence is inspiring.”

“Iwa-chan, I don’t need confidence, I’ve got you as my ace.”

Something hot bleeds in his chest, the sincerity of Oikawa’s tone running through him like a warm knife in butter.

“Oh.”

He leans a little closer, seeking out more of his heat, thumb still worrying the charm about his friend’s wrist. His eyelashes are dark against his cold-pink cheeks, lips upturned in an easy smile, the small private one that he reserves just for Iwaizumi. He leans forward and kisses him there, his lips still warm from the kiss they shared moments before. This time it’s Oikawa who brings a steadying hand up to cup his face.

It helps to quiet his swirling thoughts, and he forces his focus completely into Oikawa’s lips against his. Which isn’t that hard. They stay like that, pressed close together for a moment until finally the clouds open themselves up and spill cold water all around them.

Oikawa shrieks and Iwaizumi laughs as they jump up, and race each other home.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, Iwaizumi dreams of him.

He’s dreamed of him many times before, but maybe it’s all the worry and tension and _want_ that makes this dream so much more intense than any of the others.

They’re pressed up close to each other on Oikawa’s bed, early morning light spilling red and yellow and pink across the walls. Oikawa is drenched in colour as well, bold strokes that make him look like an expressionist painting.

“Don’t you have something for me, Iwa-chan?” His mouth is wet and parted, eyes wide.

Iwaizumi nods, raising a hand to cup Oikawa’s cheek, but his hand passes through it like smoke, tendrils of it curling in the air around his hand and up his wrist.

Abruptly he feels a sharp tug on his shoulder and is falling backward.

When the world rights itself around him he finds himself standing on centre court at the Tokyo Municipal Gymnasium. His hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as he spins around to take in the cavernous and empty space. His volleyball jersey is damp and clinging in his hands, as though he’s just finished playing five straight sets. He spins in place; the empty stadium seats loom around him, his shoes squeaking again the shiny floor.

Oikawa’s laugh comes from across the court, echoing loudly in the empty gym.

“Silly Iwa-chan, you’ll get yourself all tangled up!” Iwaizumi turns to see him standing on the service line. He wears a volleyball uniform as well, it’s not the familiar school jersey but the bright red of the National Team. The number one on his chest stands out like it’s being backlit. “Don’t get too worked up, I need my ace on top form if we want to make it together.”

He spins a ball in his hands and runs up to serve, jumping impossibly high. The ball sails in an arc across the net, it’s trajectory marked by a line of red twine. It smashes down at Iwaizumi’s feet and explodes into a bundle of red string which leaps up to wrap around his wrists and curl across his arms and chest.

“See, Iwa-chan, you’re all tangled up,” Oikawa is suddenly right in front of him, and the red threads fly up to wrap around his wrists too, binding them together, “I can help you with that.”

He presses close, and suddenly everything goes dark. Iwaizumi hears the din of the crowd around them, roaring as though they’ve just scored the winning point in the finals. Oikawa’s breath is hot on his cheek like it has been on so many nights before.

“Wouldn’t you like that, Iwa-chan?”

Oikawa tugs on the string, yanking him forwards and they fall together. Instead of hitting the hard floor of the gym, Iwaizumi’s knees meet soft mattress and he finds himself back in Oikawa’s bed.

“Oikawa” he gasps out, as the other boy’s clothes vanish and suddenly they’re both naked.

Below him Oikawa is moaning, mouth hanging open, the red threads pulling his skin and wrapping more tightly around his wrists, “Iwa-chan, please, please.” He gasps and writhes like a porn star, like every filthy dream and sordid fantasy Iwaizumi has ever had.

Iwaizumi presses forwards, desperate for a taste, and the world tips again. Abruptly he is the one flat on his back and Oikawa looms over him, face flushed, mouth hanging open obscenely.

Above them, the plastic stars on the ceiling above Oikawa’s bed glow and burn into swirling galaxies and star systems, throwing starlight across Oikawa’s body and catching in his hair.

“Tooru” he bites out, feeling a hot pressure around his cock as Tooru sinks down onto it, thighs shaking with the effort, a high whine in his throat, “Oh, God.”

“Oh, _yes_ , Iwa-chan! Hajime, you’re so good, you feel so good inside me, _ah!”_

Hajime lets his head fall back, watching as the stars swirl above them as Tooru rides his cock desperately, moaning and gasping like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. Oikawa snaps his hips, and the red threads on Hajime’s wrists tighten and pull, drawing his hands up to grip around Tooru’s waist.

“ _Fuck!”_

Hajime doesn’t know where to look – Tooru’s wet mouth, teeth flashing white as he gasps and pants; the red string pulled tight against his throat; the pink of his stiff nipples; the flushed red of his bouncing cock.

Above him, Tooru cries out and falls forwards, desperately working his hips.

“Hajime, _fuck, Hajime_ ,” he babbles breathlessly into his neck, “my Hajime, my perfect love, _ahhh_ , my ace, my everything. Come on, you can do it for me can’t you? You can win for me, can’t you? We need to make it there together Hajime. Don’t leave me, never leave me, you’re _mine_ , you…ahh…you belong to me.”

Around them, the stars glow brighter and brighter, and Tooru comes hard against his stomach, breathless in his release, and seems to glow too. He glows brighter and brighter, burning like the sun - so bright that Hajime has to close his eyes against it, thrusting frantically, desperate to find his own release. Oikawa continues to whisper filthy pronouncements in his ear, his ass tightening impossibly around his cock until Iwaizumi is begging, begging, begging.

He wakes up just as he comes, hips jerking fervently against his mattress.

He lies there for several minutes afterward, eyes closed against the light creeping under his curtains, feeling the weight of his bracelet on his wrist.

The weight of expectation on his shoulders.

Later, when Oikawa kisses him on the cheek as they walk to meet the team, he blushes head to toe and doesn’t dare explain why when the others mock him for it.

 

* * *

 

 

Silence echoes all around him. The weight of fifteen years of expectation presses down on Tooru’s shoulders.

_Inhale._

The whistle blows, the ball goes up. The crowd roars around him.

_Exhale_.

It flies across the net and on to Iwa-chan’s waiting arms. Leather stings against Tooru’s fingers for just a second as he sets it upwards.

_Inhale._

The ball’s up again, rebounds back across the net, and Tooru sprints. His legs burn with the effort, heart pounding wildly in his chest as he throws an arm out behind him. If this is it – if this is the last point they play together – then his last toss _must_ be to Iwa-chan.

_Exhale_.

His hands connect with the ball, and he connects with the floor, scrambling to run back into the action. His eyes fix on Iwa-chan’s perfect spiking form. The long line of his back, the tense muscles in his legs, the powerful swing of his arm.

_Inhale._

His team screams and shouts behind him, the roar of the crowd in his ears dulls into white noise as the ball goes up _again_.

And here it comes, that freak quick. He won’t let it come through.

_‘Not today,’_ he thinks, _‘I’m not finished yet, we’re not finished yet.’_

_Exhale._

‘The team with the better six are stronger.’

A wicked grin curves at his mouth.

His team are the better six!

_Inhale._

The ball comes smashing through the block.

It glances off his outstretched arms…and bounces down onto the floor.

The world disappears around him.

_Exhale._

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Inhale._

He stands.

Noise saturates his brain; the thunderous din of the crowd and cheers of the other team invade his ears.

He turns to look at his own team. They stand in disbelief, still staring at the patch of hardwood where the ball dropped.

Tooru’s eyes automatically seek out Iwa-chan. In the hundreds of games that they’ve played together, he’s never seen his friend cry on the court.

_Exhale._

 

* * *

 

 

“Come over tonight” he murmurs to Iwa-chan later, as they flop wearily into their seats on the bus. The sight of him crying still lingers fresh in his mind, the weight of defeat hangs heavily upon them both.

“Okay.” His eyes are rimmed red still. Around them, the team is quiet and subdued, a stark change to the atmosphere only hours before.

“We can get eat junk food and watch movies all night,” Tooru continues, trying for a smile.

Iwa-chan exhales in something like a laugh, “yeah, I guess we don’t have to worry about keeping in shape too much anymore. Well, at least I don’t.” He turns to look out of the window as the bus pulls out of the car park and onto the road.

Tooru takes his hand, gripping it tightly and squeezing, clinging for dear life.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s much later when they step into Tooru’s bedroom, exhausted from the day. Iwa-chan drops his kit bag on the desk, the habit of a lifetime that he knows annoys Tooru but continues anyway. The sun has set, and the street lamp outside casts an orange glow across the room. When Iwa-chan turns towards him, his face is in shadow. His hands tense and relax and tense and relax.

“I can’t believe that was it,” Tooru sighs, hooking his own bag over the back of the door. Away from the eavesdropping of the team, he allows himself to sag under the weight of disappointment. “I always imagined - ”

There’s a sharp gasping inhale from his friend, and suddenly Tooru is being crowded back into the wall. Iwa-chan presses against him, grabs the back of his head and crushes their mouths together.

The kiss is firm and insistent. Iwa-chan’s grip is tight in his hair, almost painful, and Tooru’s heart (which had surely stopped beating when his back hit the wall) thumps hard in his chest. A small, desperate noise stutters from his throat.

Iwa-chan pulls back minutely, hardly giving him a second to breathe before he tilts his head and captures Tooru’s mouth again in a deeper kiss, mouth opening to slot their lips together heatedly. He whines when he feels Iwa-chan teeth against his lower lip.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru gasps, breaking the kiss as Hajime pushes one leg roughly between his thighs, “wait, wait! _Ah!_ ”

Hajime ignores him and sucks a kiss onto his neck, forcing Tooru’s head back at an uncomfortable angle. He grinds sloppily against him, making Tooru cry out, hands flying up to push at the other boy’s shoulders.

“Wait, please, Hajime.”

At the sound of his proper name, Hajime pulls away. His pupils are blown wide, mouth slick and red as he pants for breath. He blinks, eyes skittering over Tooru shoved up against the wall, and stumbles back a couple of steps. “Sorry, that was too much. Tooru, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine, I just need a second.” He reaches for Hajime’s hands and brings them back up to rest on his cheeks, pressing his own over the top to keep them in place. Stepping forward to press their foreheads together he exhales shakily.

“Are you okay?” Hajime asks and tries to pull his hands away. Tooru holds them tight.

“Yeah.”

“You’re shaking.”

“So are you.”

Tooru laughs, turning his head to press his lips to Hajime’s left palm. The red thread bracelet on his wrist catches against his chin, and Tooru feels an overwhelming warmth bubbling up in his chest. He feels like he might cry.

“Tooru…”

Tooru kisses him, more gently this time, slow and careful. It feels almost as if it could be the first time he’s ever done it. His hands slip down and come to rest on Hajime’s waist. He loses track of time as they kiss and kiss and kiss, Hajime’s mouth is hot and slick against his own as his brushes their tongues together.

Hajime is hard against his hip, and he knows that Hajime can feel his own hardness in return. This doesn’t feel like before, when they had first kissed, and he had been so overwhelmed with the feeling of simply pressing their mouths together that he hardly knew what to do with himself. This feels like Hajime is hanging on the edge of a cliff, and, rather than pulling him back up, Tooru is perfectly happy to fall off it with him.

His arms wrap around Tooru’s shoulders, bringing them impossibly closer and he gasps when their cocks rub together between the fabric of his track pants. Hajime pulls his mouth away, eyes squeezed closed, breathless.

“ _God,_ Tooru.” He presses tender open-mouthed kisses to the side of Tooru’s throat and neck, teeth sinking in slightly and sucking. “I dreamed about you last night,” he admits in a low voice, the words spilling hotly over Tooru’s collarbone and down to his cock, “you looked just like this.”

Tooru feels like he might spontaneously combust. “Hajime! _Ahhhh!”_

“I’ve wanted this forever,” he blurts out, pulling his mouth from Tooru’s neck with a wet pop, “I’ve wanted you for so long.” His breath is hot against Tooru’s ear, fingers slipping under his shirt to slide over his stomach and then down towards his pants. “I’ve wanted to do this so many times. Since the first time…I know it was only recently but… _God, I want you! I…_ ”

Tooru cuts him off with a sharp cry as Hajime’s hand brushes over his cock and jerks his hips forward to chase the pressure.

“It’s okay,” he assures, desperate to feel Hajime’s hands on him, he needs to feel him. Since the second the ball touched the floor and his world ended, he’s needed Hajime to touch him and want him and need him like this. “God, you’re so…you’re so…”

Hajime’s fingers brush over him inside his pants but above his underwear, tensing nervously like he isn’t sure if it’s allowed. His mouth is all confidence, but his hands are shaking. His hips jerk forwards towards Tooru, his cock hard and hot against him even through their layers of clothing.

“If you leave your hand there I’m gonna come” he admits, face burning with arousal and embarrassment, “it feels too good, _ah_.” He’s so aware of how nervous Hajime is, and how much they both (desperately) want this to happen. He doesn’t want to ruin it by coming in his pants like the virgin he is.

His declaration seems to ignite something inside Hajime though, and suddenly he is all confidence. He twists the fingers of his free hand into Tooru’s hair and gasps out a “ _Yes_ , Tooru”, before kissing him again, licking into his mouth. Hajime’s fingers move over his cock with inexperienced eagerness, with none of the skill they have on the court but just as much power and energy. He pulls Tooru’s underwear down roughly, eagerly, and when he rubs his bare cock, Tooru just about dies.

Tooru pants against his mouth, one hand coming to clutch around Hajime’s wrist, thrusting desperately up against his palm, “Hajime, please, I’m gonna come, please _ahhh_ , it’s too much, please.”

He gasps in a shuddering breath and comes as Hajime breathes heavily against his ear, murmuring his name and pressing his palm firmly against his cock.

They stand pressed together for a few moments, catching their breath and leaning against each other. Tooru closes his eyes and tries to capture the moment in his mind; Hajime trembling against him, one hand pressed to his hip, mouth resting on the hinge of his jaw.

“Do you want me to…” he stutters out when he remembers himself, pulling back slightly to run his hands over Hajime’s stomach and down towards his cock.

“That’s okay I already…umm…” he blushes and looks away, biting his lip. In the unnatural orange glow of the street lamp illuminates his mouth, plump and slick, “when I was doing…that to you, I already…you’re so incredible Tooru.”

Overcome with affection, Tooru kisses him, hard but tender, “Iwa-chan” he whines, burying his face into Hajime’s neck, “you’re gonna kill me!”

He lets himself be manhandled over to the bed, and Iwa-chan flicks the desk lamp on so they’re bathed in warm yellow light. He feels overwhelmed with tiredness the second he takes the weight off his legs. He observes with some amusement and disgust as Iwa-chan tries to find something to wipe his hand on, before settling on the leg of his pants.

“You’re still shaking” he mumbles, watching the other boy tug off his sweatpants and underwear, completely unashamed of his nakedness. Tooru admires the curve of his spine as he does so, and then blushes at the view of Iwa-chan perfectly formed ass when he bends to pull fresh clothes from his bag.

“Cut me some slack Oikawa, this isn’t exactly a familiar experience for me,” he chuckles and comes to flop down on the bed, “don’t you wanna get changed? You’ve kind made a mess of yourself there.” He gestures vaguely towards Tooru’s lap where there is still some lingering evidence of their activities.

“That’s your fault!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he replies, not sounding sorry in the least, “I’ll try harder next time.”

Tooru hums and forces himself to stand up and go out to the bathroom across the hall. His legs tremble with the excursion of it, weak from playing so hard earlier in the day.

Just as he’s just pulling on some pajama pants, the front door opens downstairs, and his parents call out that they’re home.

“We’ll be there in a minute!”

He pads back into his room to see Iwa-chan sitting up in his bed, phone in hand. His mouth is still kiss-red. He looks up when Tooru closes the door and shifts his legs to make room for him.

“Did your parents just get back?”

“Yeah, we should go down and talk to them.”

“Yeah,” Iwa-chan puts a hand to Tooru’s neck and rubs his thumb across the spot over his collarbone, “you might wanna put on a different shirt though. Sorry.”

“Oh, my God.” Iwa-chan laughs at him as he leans over to look in the mirror to see the bruise, still looking unapologetic and proud of himself. He grabs Tooru by the hand and pulls him back to wrap his arms tightly around his waist. They hug for a long moment. Tooru listens to their joint breathing and the sounds of his parents in the kitchen. “Are you okay,” he continues against Iwa-chan’s shoulder, “before you seemed really…” _upset._ He doesn’t say it, but the word hangs in the air between them.

“Yeah, I just…” Iwa-chan clears his throat, “I can’t believe it’s over I guess. I can’t remember a game of volleyball I haven’t played with you.”

“Me either.”

“Remember the first time we met at the volleyball club in elementary school? You tried that move you’d seen those college kids doing and hit me in the face with the ball?”

Tooru laughs and squeezes his arms a little tighter around Iwa-chan’s shoulders. “And then when I started throwing tosses for you and you got tangled up in the net?”

“And then coach yelled at you for throwing it up too high and making me run into the net.”

“Yeah!” Iwa-chan is shaking in his arms, laughing, but his neck feels wet.

“I had net marks on my face for a week,” Iwa-chan says, voice cracking as he hugs Tooru tighter, shifting on the bed to press his face deeper into Tooru’s neck.

“Well coach made me run fifty laps of the football field. Don’t you remember that I threw up in front of the captain? So embarrassing, that coach was such a hard-ass even though we were only little.” Tooru vision starts to blur so he closes his eyes against it. Hot tears slip over his cheeks and run into Iwa-chan’s hair. They both chuckle, and both pretend that they aren’t crying as they hold each other, clinging tightly until Tooru’s mom knocks on the door to ask if they’re ever planning to come downstairs.

When they pull away from each other it’s reluctantly and slowly. Tooru is emotionally exhausted. Only half an hour ago Iwa-chan had him pressed against the wall, and now they’re crying onto each other’s shoulders.

“I’m so glad you hit me in the face with that ball.”

“Well I’ll hit you in the face with my balls as much as you like,” Tooru smirks in response, surreptitiously wiping his eyes, giggling when Iwa-chan smacks him lightly on the arm. “Come on, my parents will want to know how the match went.”

“Yeah.” Iwa-chan looks at him, cheeks blotchy, eye rimmed red. He’s pretty glad he hit him in the face too.  

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I picture Iwa-chan's suit looking like in his snap :https://theidleman.com/manual/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/grey-vest-and-pants-black-mens-man-style-300x278.jpg
> 
> Update: I just lost 10,000 words of my work, so now I've got to rewrite basically the next two chapters so bare with me for the update (I'm gonna cry).


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